


Acceptable Loss

by ElmiDol



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: But you're not having any of it, Canon Divergence, F/M, Hux is a shitty husband, Loss of Virginity, PDA, Plotting, Public Sex, Slight Voyeurism, Slightly dubcon, Spoilers for the Phasma Novel, Your huxband sometimes tries, injuries, okay maybe just a little of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-06 14:25:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 62,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11602482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElmiDol/pseuds/ElmiDol
Summary: Your marriage to the man had been for political reasons; you hadn't realized that he would use your life as an expendable tool for just that. All to start a war.But you would survive. You would play his game. You had to, for the sake of your planet more than anything.





	1. Protection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HeartOfDreamer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartOfDreamer/gifts).



> This is not a priority fic, but I will try to get out the first four chapters in a decent amount of time since they are pre-written.
> 
> Because you fell in love with this fic, I'm doing this for you, HeartofDreamer~

Protection

The marriage had been arranged by your father. Though you had inwardly protested, outwardly you had been obedient to your father’s will due to how it would benefit your entire planet. Protection under the First Order. An agreement that they would not strip your planet of its resources, nor use it as a primary base. This would prevent battles from occurring thereon if the Resistance ever discovered where loyalties developed. It was almost ironic, thinking of the emphasis that had been placed on that term. _Protection_.

You had not consummated your marriage with the man, and yet you had been viewed as his wife all the same. Mrs. Armitage Hux. What a sham, you thought as you huddled further into the ditch. You were covered in filth and your own blood. It was solely because you had a habit of carrying bacta patches and other such items in a travel med kit that you were even still alive. You needed treatment all the same, else you still risked facing death.

Gritting your teeth, you held back a cry of pain. If it was not for the fact that you needed to keep your wits about you, you would have injected some of the pain medications. Your tears were not only of frustration and pain, but of betrayal as well. The man who had promised protection…

For your planet, but not for you.

For him, you were but a mere pawn.

You had heard General Hux discussing with some of the superior officers of the First Order the need to eliminate a certain planet. The hitch in these plans happened to be that nearby allies of the First Order would see the attack as unprovoked. You had never believed that your husband would place you in a position to be murdered. Had never considered that he would do this in order to declare war on the planet. A provoked attack. A personal affront to the First Order—murdering the wife of the general.

Through pursed lips you slowly released a breath you had held in so that you did not scream. You wondered what your father was thinking. Because you had heard the transmissions as you maneuvered further and further away from the mercenary that had been hired to kill you. His conversations with your husband on a comlink. Your husband’s furious response when it had been stated that you had managed to get away—alive. General Hux was far from pleased. When the mercenary suggested that it could be made to look as though you had been kidnapped—No! You were to be _killed_! Nothing less.

The man to whom your father had given your hand to…

Biting down on your lips, you kept in another scream. His vows had been such a farce! Perhaps the entire deal he kept with your planet had been a sham. Your nostrils flared. Maneuvering yourself onto your hands and knees, you started to crawl through the mud. The foliage was keeping you hidden, yet it also presented the potential issue of causing noise that would give away your position. The only reason you even dared moved was that it had been more than five minutes since you had heard the mercenary walking away from you. You had counted out each of those seconds with dread. Every second that had ticked by, you had waited for death. Had waited for the mercenary to discover your location. Or perhaps for your injuries to prove worse than you believed.

The world was blurred at the edges. No… That was your vision, you realized. A sharp gasp left you, and your hands began patting along your body. You were kneeling in the mud. Desperately searching for your travel-sized medkit. For the one thing that could keep you alive for at least a little longer. Long enough to get help. Or reveal how your husband had lied.

There was no protection—not from the man himself.


	2. Acting

Acting

You came to at the familiar scent of Bacta. It was stronger this time, the smell permeating throughout the—you blinked open your eyes and took in your surroundings. Room. The smell was filling the _room_ you were in. Memory returned to you in full, the way your husband had spoken to the mercenary. General Hux of the First Order wanted you _dead_. Nothing personal, you thought sardonically with your lip curling upwards. He did not have _any_ feelings when it came to you. No opinion as far as your personality went. You were nothing more than a pawn to him, and an expendable one at that.

When you began to sit up, you hissed in pain and collapsed back down against the pillow. You knit your brow. There were sounds coming from a different part of the—house? building? hospital?—that you were in. You remained as silent as you could, listening all the while. There were two speakers, though you could not discern exactly what was being said. That hardly mattered to you, however; for you recognized one of those voices as belonging to an officer who worked alongside General Hux.

You felt a cold chill trickle along your spine, climbing higher and higher as your brain froze with dread. You were in no position to escape. Someone had taken care of you; the bandages bespoke the medical treatment that had been administered while you had been unconscious. That did not erase your weakness, how drained your injuries had left you. And how long had you been unconscious for? These thoughts circulated in your brain as you waited for the inevitable. The officer would arrive—how would General Hux arrange for your death now?

Because you had been found by some of the locals, who had then contacted the First Order… That was all on record. But your husband was a clever man. He would use this to his advantage still; find a way around this in order to see to it that you met with death so that he could then declare war on the planet. You thought of your own planet, of your home. What would it be like for your father? He would mourn you without knowing the truth.

But perhaps that was best; you did not want your father to blame himself for your death. He had handed you over in marriage to the General, but it was not his fault that the man had proven himself to be duplicitous.

You had not believed you could feel any colder, yet you found out otherwise when a new voice joined in the conversation. _He_ was _here_. Goosebumps adorned your flesh as you began to claw around at the pillows surrounding you. It was a futile effort to bury yourself in hopes of not being seen, and still you committed yourself to doing so. A cry escaped you when you dropped a pillow atop your stomach.

The conversation in the other room ceased. Footsteps. You squeezed your eyes closed and held back tears of pain and frustration. “Ah, there you are.” His voice washed over you like a wave. You felt as though you would be drowned, that he would drag you under and squeeze the life out of your lungs. “You’ve been missing for six days. I was beginning to believe you had perished.”

 _That’s what you would have preferred,_ you thought bitterly. You had refused to open your eyes. This was the man who had tried to have you murdered. He had hired a mercenary! You replayed his orders in your head; the ones you had overheard. He did not want you alive. He wanted you dead.

The bed upon which you were lying dipped under the pressure of new weight. He was sitting there with you. When he set a hand on your hip, you bit down on the insides of your cheeks to keep from screaming. A warmth brushed against your forehead. His breath. Next, his lips. This man was kissing you. Underneath the blankets, your hands curled into fists. If you had been of full health, you would have attempted to strike him. As it was, he would catch the blow with ease.

“Are you sore?” he asked, his tone rather detached. It was not as though he truly cared about you.

Your eyelids ascended, and you glowered at the man you had married. His eyes were running along your facial features. Perhaps he was curious as to how much you knew. On the off chance that he would allow you to live long enough to alert your father, you dropped your negative gaze. “Very.” General Hux hummed, his hand shifting away from your hip and to your face. It took all of your strength to not jerk away from his touch. “I want to see my father.” Another hum, this one more thoughtful than the last. “He… I imagine he is worried.”

“I believe it would be best if you first rested. We will be returning to the _Finalizer_ tomorrow morning.” The man did not pull away from you, his scrutiny remaining. Looking for any signs of betrayal on your part; how ironic. He set his thumb against your lower lip, pulling it downwards. At last did you turn your head, breaking the contact. Your lip popped back into place. “I will let you rest.” He rose, exiting the room.

_He doesn’t plan on killing me…at least not yet… What is he planning?_

You turned your head to the side in order to better listen to the conversation once more taking place. As before, the words were garbled, distorted due to the distance between yourself and the speakers. The next time someone entered the room, it was a young woman. She was perhaps your age, maybe a little older, and assisted you in rising so that you could use the toilet. General Hux’s intentions were no more clear to you when the woman handed you a washcloth to clean yourself; she stated that your husband wished for you to be washed for when you shared his bed.

You wrinkled your nose at the thought. Having accepted the washcloth from her, you watched as the woman exited the refresher in order to, as she informed you, change the bed sheets. You loathed the idea of sharing a bed with the man you had wed, the man who had nearly succeeded in having you murdered. Still… You paused, taking a deep breath then exhaling slowly as you admitted to yourself that, for the time being, it would benefit you more to humor him. It was the only way you would live long enough to speak with your father.

 _But what can my father do?_ you wondered in the next breath. _Hux may see to it that war is declared on **my** planet if he perceives my actions as being a betrayal…even though he struck the first blow._

You were thankful to be alone when the following moment you gagged at the notion your husband would wish to become intimate with you. He had never pushed to consummate the marriage…and yet would that not be the perfect test? If he wished to know if you were aware of _anything_ , sex would be his best bet. And he was such a calculating man, your husband. You faced being discovered if you denied him the pleasure of taking your virginity.

 _Perhaps…with my injuries…he may not be as suspicious._ Comforting yourself with these thoughts, you finished cleansing your body with the washcloth. Afterwards, you rose and clumsily made your way back to the bed. The sheets were fresh, the pillows reordered. And your husband was seated in a chair that was near the piece of furniture that you moved forward to occupy. The man’s gaze was glued to your form the entire time, though he spoke not a word.

Calculating indeed, your mind shot; you slipped underneath the covers and laid flat on your back. If you presented your back to him, that action could also tip him off. It was tiresome, being forced to live in a world of paranoia. Yet you were not foolish enough to let your guard down.

“How was it… I thought I was going to die…”

“The couple stumbled upon you by accident. They were out for a stroll, and recognized your face from a holovid regarding our marriage.” He sounded bored out of his mind. The man had clearly come to terms with the fact that you had survived despite his plans, which meant that he was developing a different method of declaring war. “I was contacted immediately, and saw fit to have a local doctor tend to you until I could arrive.”

“I…see…” Your voice sounded distracted even to your own ears. “I appreciate it.”

He chortled. “Appreciate it? Do you believe I would allow you, my wife, to die?”

 _Yes!_ “No… That’s not it.” You angled your head so that you could watch him as he continued to observe you. “I mean that you… You’re levelheaded. I’ve seen even the best of men panic in such situations.”

“Yes…I suppose you have,” he drawled, his eyes meeting yours. General Hux rose from the chair. You watched him as he began to undo first his shirt and then his pants. Averting your gaze, you listened as your husband folded his clothes. It sounded as though he set them on the chair he had previously occupied. Pants. Shirt. You cringed when you heard him removing his socks. His undershirt next. You held your breath, waiting…waiting… Without removing his underwear, the man slipped into bed beside you.

He was lying on his side, his arm moving underneath the pillow and cradling you. You kept staring at the wall in an attempt to ignore how he felt against you. You chewed on your bottom lip when his other arm slid across your belly, his hand cupping your hip. Perhaps he would attribute the fact that you flinched to your injuries. You set one of your hands on the healing wound so as to further support this misconception.

It was when his mouth met yours that you felt yourself beginning to tremble. He pulled back after only a brief moment. “I… I hurt,” you half-lied. You did ache, and yet that was obviously _not_ the reason behind your reaction to him.

“I will have pain medici—“

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “I… I just need rest.” You forced yourself to shift your body closer to his. Years of being the daughter of the figurehead of your planet had forced you to learn how to act. How to pretend. Put on a false bravado. “Please?”

“Mm…” His eyes swept down your body. “Very well.” The hand belonging to the arm under your pillow met the side of your head. He ran his fingers through your hair, and for a second time his lips met yours.

He was an even better actor than you were, you thought as you forced yourself to reciprocate that brief kiss. Breaking contact, you rolled over and allowed the man to spoon with you.

_I can do this… I need to… Otherwise my father won’t know the truth…_

“G-goodnight,” you whispered despite not knowing the exact time.


	3. Interest

Interest

In the morning, you were offered a light breakfast by the couple in whose house you had stayed the night—several nights, you reminded yourself. It felt surreal still, to think that your husband had been the one to place you in this position. You ate slowly, dragging out each bite and chewing at a leisurely pace in order to prolong the time before leaving the planet. You were not quite ready to return to the _Finalizer_ ; that was General Hux’s world. He was already so clever when it came to calling the shots for things that the idea of playing on his field terrified you all the more. Surveillance. Eyes on the entire ship.

You wrapped the coat you were provided around yourself, observing the man who was your husband and warden as he thanked the couple. Stormtrooper escorts and two officers were waiting on the other side of the door, outside of their home. They began to lead both you and Hux when the General ventured through the doorway. His hand was on your lower back, urging you forward. You did not fight against him. It was all you could do to keep up the façade that you were his trusting wife. In the back of your mind, however, you were plotting away.

The two things that were at the forefront of your mind were that you wanted to survive and you wanted your planet to remain safe. It nearly made you sick to think that this might involve you becoming intimate with the redhead who had attempted to have you killed. Still, if you endeared yourself to him, he would possibly be more reluctant to use you as a pawn.

Murdering the man was hardly an option, or at least not yet. The First Order would retaliate, slaughtering those on your planet and you as well.

You boarded the transport shuttle, settled into the seat beside your husband, and stared at the wall between the two stormtroopers who were across from you. Your body still ached, and you were dreading the flight as well as the landing. Next to you, General Hux was consulting his datapad, scrolling through various items and essentially ignoring your presence. This was how your entire marriage had been; not that the two of you had been married for very long.

You decided to be thankful for his attitude towards you; it meant that you did not have to feel pressured to have sex with him. Though you knew it might draw him closer to you, you wanted time to come to terms with this. As well was more time to heal.

A hiss escaped from you as the shuttle jerked awake. Your hands went to your injuries, and General Hux hummed thoughtfully. He had at last turned away from his datapad to pay you some attention. “I will have the First Order’s physicians examine you.”

“I… Yes, sir,” you said. You dropped your gaze down to the floor of the shuttle. After settling back further against the seat, you tilted back your head and closed your eyes.

“Sir?” the redhead repeated under his breath. The corners of your mouth twitched. It took quite a bit of energy to not snort; he should be pleased, you thought, that you referred to him with anything of respect. No terms of endearment were appropriate. “Shall I now begin addressing you as _princess_?” He spoke low enough so that the others present would have to strain to hear him.

Your nostrils flared as you thought of how best to reply to this. The best way to lie was to remain as close to the truth as possible. “We hardly know one another. You are my husband, and yet I… I do not know what else I should call you.”

“Fair enough,” the man responded. “We shall become better acquainted once the physicians have examined you.”

You swallowed, saliva slipping down your throat; your mouth ran dry the next moment. He was hinting that he wished to have sex with you. Your eyes nearly watered, yet you successfully fought off the tears. Your breathing, however, quickened. Catching this, you mentally berated yourself and told yourself to relax. Then, realizing it was perfectly natural for a virgin to be so nervous, you allowed yourself to display such emotions. This drew a chuckle from the man who had nearly had you murdered.

“You will be given medication for the pain,” he said, as though _that_ was the main cause for your reservations. You bit down on your lip to keep from saying anything in response to this. Holding his datapad in one hand, General Hux reached over and touched your thigh. You tensed, looking his way in full. Your duplicitous husband was observing you, his eyes searching you as though he was waiting for something specific. Once more you received the impression that he was suspicious of you.

“I will…” You paused, dropping your gaze from his face so as to appear shy. “I think medication will be helpful.”

“I was beginning to believe I would have to fight you,” he drawled, adjusting his datapad to continue with his work. This time, you looked at the device as well. He did nothing to shield the display, which informed you that nothing was confidential in nature. “Such a stubborn woman—and yet I should be relieved; that stubbornness has allowed you to survive.”

 _You underestimated me, that’s what you’re trying to say,_ you hissed in your head. Outwardly, you forced a smile and brushed back some of your hair. “I felt out of place there…in that home. I did not want to take anything that would further alter my perception—it’s overwhelming.”

“Do you recall anything?”

“Someone… I remember someone trying to kill me,” you said, your mind darting back to the way General Hux’s voice had demanded over the communications device that you were to be killed. “It’s still not entirely—it’s fuzzy in a lot of areas. Was the couple able to…tell you anything?”

“Very little.”

The remainder of the trip was quiet between the pair of you. The moment the ship docked in the landing bay aboard the _Finalizer_ , General Hux steered you towards medbay. Again did you refrain from fighting him; being healed would benefit _you_ more than it would him. Of course, that did not make the exams any more pleasant to endure. You greedily swallowed the pain medications when the examination was finished, happily followed General Hux to the man’s quarters, and climbed onto the bed. You curled into a ball. The effects of the medication were causing you to feel rather loopy.

 _Don’t say anything stupid,_ you thought groggily. “No touching me.”

The hand that was on your back, guiding you to ensure you did not collapse, shifted further up. “I have no intention of consummating our marriage while you are unconscious.”

“No touching when awake,” you said, reaching back and weakly batting at him. You scooted closer to the middle of the bed, bringing all the pillows nearer to your body.

“You have no interest in your husband, hmm?” the man questioned, his tone sounding playful to your ears. You half-turned over to look him in the eye. He had a single brow quirked, his mouth pulled into a frown. Not playful, you decided. This sobered you a little, and you pointed his way with a single finger. Twirling around that digit, you pursed your lips and blew air—to what end you were doing this, even you did not know. “Perhaps you should be given something less potent.”

“Mm-no,” you said, sighing heavily and dropping your arm onto the mattress. “Tired ‘n’ sore.”

“I see.” General Hux withdrew, taking a step away from the bed. “I will complete some work while you sleep off the medication. Should you need anything, use the comms device to your left.” Your eyes darted towards said object. You nodded, whispering out that you would do just that. Not that you could think of a reason you would need any assistance or _want_ Hux near you at all. He moved to leave the room, and you once more curled up with his pillows.


	4. Cut Off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Half this chapter is old content, and the other half is additional. It felt too short for me to repost as it was.

Cut Off

The medication given to you by the physician had you out cold for the better part of the day; not that you could tell what time it was by peering out any windows. That was one thing you were _still_ attempting to come to terms with—General Hux intended to keep you nearby, aboard the _Finalizer_. You were uncertain whether this was a step up from him attempting to have you murdered in a political move, or down. When at last you did awaken, you groggily stood from the man’s bed and began rummaging through the portion he had allotted you in his closet following your marriage to him. There was not much space at all. Though you had never been a materialistic individual, that had not meant that you did not enjoy having possessions. Namely outfits. Here, aboard his ship, you had only a handful of clothing options, and every one of them were within _regulations_.

You scoffed, snorting at this fact as you pulled out one of the looser articles of clothing. After stripping, you tugged on fresh clothes and then lowered yourself onto your knees. Once more, you started to rummage through the closet, although this time your focus was upon its floor. Your heart stuttered in your chest. Your possessions had been shifted, and all devices capable of communicating with individuals outside of the ship were missing.

You grit your teeth and outright snarled. Your damned husband was not allowing you to contact your father. As you had assumed, he truly was suspicious of you. Either he believed you already knew full well what he had done, or else he feared that the memory would return over time. You were already tiring of the game he was forcing you to play, especially given that the man seemed to have the upper hand at every turn.

General Hux would be present when at last you would be allowed to communicate with your father. Which meant that you could tell him nothing. Not without immediate repercussions.

You were trembling as you rose to your feet. Your body still ached. You doubted you would be given more medication any time soon. The bed called to you; figuratively, of course—you weren’t hallucinating, for which you were thankful. Given that you could not do much, you returned to the bed. Rather than fall asleep, however, you stared up at the ceiling.

_I married to keep my planet safe… He married for political reasons as well—but why kill me? Was this his plan before he accepted my hand in marriage?_

You felt cheap. Worthless. It was one thing to be in a loveless marriage; this had been a possibility ever since you were young. But for your husband to want you dead? You covered your mouth with a hand, sobbing into it. Your entire body shook, and a few noises escaped despite your attempts to keep quiet. You did not want to chance General Hux entering his quarters to find you breaking down like this.

Thankfully, when your husband did arrive, you had managed to calm yourself enough for the tears to stop. You straightened up and forced a smile, made it appear as though you were truly happy to see him. “I’m feeling better.”

“Mm.” General Hux rounded the bed, never once looking away from you. You shifted uncomfortably, not accustomed to being so scrutinized while in the bedroom. This was a place you had always found you could relax; not his room, naturally—the very idea of a bedroom, though. Otherwise you always wore a mask to conceal your true feelings. Politics…they were so tiring. “You must be bored out of your mind.”

“Well…a little.” You would play along with him. In this portion of the game, both of you were on equal footing. Or perhaps not; this flashed through your mind when he ran his tongue along his lips and shifted closer to the bed. He was eyeing you in a manner you found to be rather predatory. “Ah—“

“Shhh.” His hushing was deceptively gentle. General Hux moved onto the bed, the man setting one hand past your hip and the other on your shoulder. He effectively trapped you. Your eyes grew impossibly wide as terror ripped through you. He couldn’t—how could he want—? His mouth hovered near your cheek, his lips puckering, and all at once you felt him kiss you. You jumped at the contact. “Hmm…”

“I’ve… You’ve never…been so…” Your mind scrambled for an explanation, anything to keep him from becoming even more suspicious. Nothing. You bit down on your bottom lip. Turning to face him, you fluttered your eyelashes in an attempt to gain more time.

He readily allowed your silence to persist. His mouth, when it descended again, met yours. It was hungry and domineering, working you into submission. You whimpered at the contact, not reciprocating the gesture and instead turning your head to stop him. The hand left your shoulder, his thumb and forefinger cupping your chin. This prevented you from fully escaping him. You panted, nearly breathless from the kiss and the residual medications in your system.

“Then your words were not mere utterances of a medicated woman.” You jerked your gaze to his face and found that he was frowning. General Hux lifted his chin and stared down the bridge of his nose at you. “To _not touch_ you.” He nearly spat out the words. You flinched at every syllable, drawing back from the man. He allowed you this. In fact, the redhead snatched his hand away from your face. You closed your eyes and anticipated a blow that never came. “I’ve been told to be patient with you…that I may never know the full trauma of what you experienced…”

 _Making it out as though **I’m** the bad guy…as though he’s innocent._ You pressed your teeth together, holding in a scream that threatened to erupt.

“Do you hate me?”

His words caught you off guard. Your eyes flew open, and you furrowed your brow while staring at him. What were you supposed to say? “What?” Your voice was quiet, a mere whisper.

“You have been cold—ever since I came to retrieve you from the planet. Distant… You act as though you do not trust me.”

You shook your head, all instincts telling you to persuade this man otherwise. “I… I’m just shaken… And… We hardly know one another—like I said before.” By way of response, the man cupped your cheek with a hand. You forced yourself to lean into his touch, to raise a hand and hold onto him. “I was terrified.”

“You needn’t be anymore.”

 _You lying scum._ Outwardly, you shifted closer to him, laying your head against his chest whilst keeping his hand on your cheek. “In time…I hope I will calm.” Your husband hummed, the man relaxing. You took this to mean that, for the time being, he would not press you further. The hand shifted from your cheek to your upper arm. His touch was gentle in its own way though overall firm.

“It is not your skittish behavior that causes me to doubt you,” he drawled after a beat. You squeezed your eyes closed and refused to reopen them. “You do not wish for me to even kiss you—I am your _husband_.” The latter portion he nearly hissed out when you opened your mouth to protest.

You waited for him to press on. Instead he scowled, the man watching you. You had since drawn away from his chest, away from him. You knelt with your hands in your lap. Eyes falling to the empty space between the pair of you, you took a moment to breathe. After this you shifted forward. General Hux remained perfectly still. His eyes moved along with you. You lifted your hands and gently cupped his face. Your touch was unsure, hesitant from both your inexperience and your mistrust. This time it was Hux who did not react to the kiss. Not that he would have had much time to do so. A phantom-like kiss.

When you started to withdraw, the ginger haired man lifted his hand. He brushed his knuckles along your cheek, up and down. As though encouraging you to kiss him again. Much as you were loath to do so, you repeated the gesture. This time when you ended the brief kiss, you did not pull away from him completely. You remained where your lips were hovering mere inches from him. Anything to appease him, to rid him of the suspicions he clearly had circulating in his head. The man was _too_ calculating and observant. These would have been traits you admired in him if he had been more loyal to you.

As it was, these were traits you feared due to his willingness to sacrifice you.

You thought of the vows you had shared on your wedding day. His promises to keep your planet safe. To not dishonor you. Nothing that would offer you protection, you noted now that you reflected on them. As for you, you had promised to warm his bed and be a faithful wife. To do nothing to disgrace him both in terms of the First Order and his personal life. You had been played for a fool essentially. How easy it would be for him to uphold his vows while still aiming to have you murdered.

“Please don’t pretend to care for me,” you said at last. “I remember what your vows were. I’m just another part of you fulfilling your duty.”

He hummed in thought. General Hux did not stop you from turning away from him. You sat there facing in the opposite direction; tears were threatening to fall. You felt wretched all over again. Used. A mere pawn, and worthless. Yet you had to live to prove that you were not worthless. You needed to somehow get in contact with your father.

“I _am_ a man of duty, I will grant you that,” the redhead said at long last. You half turned, though you did not fully look over your shoulder at him. “Arranged marriages are not based on love, especially not in our case. You were fulfilling your duty as well. Ensuring the safety of your planet. Are you regretting this?”

Your heart hammered in your chest. That was such a barbed question. You were regretting that you had married him, that he did not value you at all. Yet you were not regretting the marriage, because on the other hand it _did_ mean your planet would be protected—or at least it should. Unless this calculating man learned of a way to wage war with your planet. If he thought _you_ to be as duplicitous as he himself was then it would be reason enough to order an attack there. It was why you needed to warn your father. No actions taken by your planet could be done if they could be construed as such.

“Part of me…” you began in order to break the silence and prevent him from thinking the worst of you. You shook your head. “Part of me wishes I did marry someone I loved…or at least knew better.”

“I am not opposed to knowing you better.”

“Don’t be so crude,” you whispered, fully aware how he meant his statement.

A snort from him. “My wife is a prude.” You grit your teeth, despising him all the more. “You are breaking your vows already. This bed is rather frigid.”

Before you had the chance to open your mouth in retort, he was already standing and walking away. You glowered at his back. You were not going to stand for this.

“I was nearly killed, _dear husband_ , and all you wish to do is…is fuck me!”

“Now who’s being crude?” he drawled, once again facing you. You clenched your jaw, your glare dropping to the ground. “Political reasons, _princess_. I do not love you.”

“Then warm your bed with some _whore_!” You despised that you were crying.

General Hux appeared unaffected by your tears. “I did promise to not dishonor you. _I_ am loyal to _my_ vows.”

“When will I be allowed to speak with my father?” you asked, changing the subject. 

You were tired of his twisted truths. How low you felt, that this man had essentially tricked your father into giving you away in marriage. General Hux had seemed to be the only one to gain anything at all from the union. The moment you died—would he still be bound to his promise to protect your planet? ‘Protect the planet of my wife.’ Those had been his words. If ever he remarried—if he found another woman to be a pawn—then would those words still hold?

“I have already informed him of your status. He need not be bothered by petty complaints that will distract him from his work. That obligation now falls upon my shoulders as your husband.”

 _Obligation_. You were an _obligation_ now, were you?

“You’re sorry I didn’t die, aren’t you?” You kept your voice low and tried to retain an apathetic tone. For the most part, you succeeded. It revealed nothing of your knowledge that he had ordered your death. You lifted your chin, meeting his eye. Though you glared at him, you could not erase the pout from your lips. You knew that you looked rather pathetic, however you did not fully care. “How nice that would have been for you.”

“I won’t deny that it would have been convenient—the planet is expendable.”

It seemed he was a grand player in this game of deceit. Half-truths. Lying by omission. What a formidable foe, your husband. But you, too, had a barbed tongue.

“The bastard of Brendol Hux is so straightforward,” you cooed. The man across from you stiffened, his jaw tightening. “I do not have to warm your bed with _you_ in it. I will be loyal to my vows, _Armitage_.”

“Perhaps the next individual who makes an attempt on your life will not be such a poor shot. Careful, dear wife, or I may turn my back on you completely.” To punctuate his words, General Armitage Hux did turn his back on you, and the man strode out of his quarters. You swallowed thickly. His threat was not lost on you at all.


	5. Small Gift

Small Gift

The pair of you had already come to the point in your marriage where neither of you were speaking to the other. General Hux hardly entered his quarters save to shower and put on fresh clothing. He ignored you when he was there for any extended period. Such as currently. The man sat in a chair as his fingers and eyes played along the display of his datapad. Always working. As for you, you were seated on the bed with a book. Flipping the page, you peeked up over the rim at the sound of knocking on the door. When he permitted entrance, a droid strode inside. It handed you a small package and stated that it was _a gift to the princess from her father_. The droid then turned and left. General Hux spared a quick glance your way then immediately transferred his attention back to his work.

Your heart had nearly skipped a beat with joy. Your father! You unwrapped the package and inside found a box along with a letter. You opened the letter first. All joy escaped.

_Do not fail to perform your duties as wife. Our planet benefits from this arrangement. Happy you are safe._

All penned in your father’s hand along with his name signed at the bottom. Formal. Business-like. Was that all you were worth now? You clenched your jaw whilst eyeing the box. Did you even want to open it? That question hardly mattered; you would open it regardless.

Your hands worked open the sides, sliding the lid off the bottom. You nearly groaned aloud. Not only was it awkward that your father had purchased lingerie for you, it was tactless. He was apparently aware that your marriage had yet to be consummated. The fact that you had been in danger was all an afterthought. Your upper lip curled in disgust. Picking up the box, you rose from the bed again and moved closer to your husband. You threw the gift from your father into his lap.

“A gift for your whore,” you said, the first words spoken between the pair of you in nearly a week. General Hux glanced down, grunted, and again returned to work. It frustrated you that he would not rise to the bait. “Did you complain to my father that I won’t fuck you?”

“He questioned if he should expect to be a grandfather, asking if a child had been put in danger during the attempt, and I told him it was an impossibility.” A bored tone. As though he was humoring you in order to appease you enough so that you would leave him alone. “Of course, if you’re warming my bed without me in it, perhaps it isn’t quite as impossible as I led him to believe.”

“I’m sure you’re keeping the kitchens quite warm,” you countered. General Hux sighed and tilted back his head. He stared at your face. Too calm for your liking. “Why should I have a child with someone who does not care if I live or die? You should be glad, General. It’s one less concern for you.”

“One brat is quite enough to deal with, you are correct.”

Again with him committing himself to his work. You stared down at him. He was doing exceedingly well if his plans were to isolate you. Now even your own father was taking his side; not that your father was aware of the entire truth of the matter. If you attempted to write him, you knew that your letter would be intercepted. Any calls out would be blocked or also observed by the man you had married. General Hux thought so little of you. A pawn and an obligation. That was all you were to him.

You returned to the bed, picked up your book, and started to read it once more. It was suddenly far less enjoyable a distraction from real life than it had previously been. Knowing that your father was unhappy with you, that he didn’t know the truth, made you want to scream aloud. Yet you could not. You could not reveal that you knew it was General Hux who had ordered the hit on you. That bit of information would seal the deal: you _would_ be killed, and your death would be covered up as an accident.

Movement behind you alerted you to the fact that your husband was setting aside his datapad. A light tapping of him setting it on a table. Footsteps drawing closer. He set the box beside you on the bed. A moment later you felt his lips on your head. A quick kiss that meant nothing to either one of you. He pulled away to step into the refresher. You regarded the closed door with a high level of disinterest.

Huffing, you rose from the bed and set aside you book long enough to strip out of your current clothing to instead put on the lingerie your father had purchased. It covered your nipples yet left much the rest of your breasts exposed. Your front was also concealed, though the majority of your ass could be seen. You felt very naked, which was the point you supposed. Sitting back on the bed, you quietly enjoyed the way General Hux paused in the doorway on his return.

You pretended to be immersed in the book you were holding as he stepped closer. The man sat behind you on the bed, his chest to your back and hands on your arms. He tucked his face into the crook of your neck and puckered his lips—

“I told you to not touch me,” you said simply. The man was unable to hold in the swear, that slipped out, and you smiled in victory.

That victory was short lived. “I believe you said this was a gift for my whore,” he murmured. “You’re rather inadequate as a whore as well as a wife, aren’t you?” General Hux removed his hands from you, though he did not leave the bed.

You turned around and laid on your back. The distance between your body and his allowed you to stretch your legs—and place your ankles on his shoulders. You leaned your foot to the side, caressing the man’s cheek with your toe. The man quirked a brow at you. His eyes dropped for a moment to your crotch then flicked back up to your face.

“I told you to not touch me—and so you will _not_ touch me.”

“Of course, your _highness_ ,” he said as though he did not care at all.

You stretched up one of your arms, bending it at the elbow and setting a part of your forearm over your head. The other arm you set on your stomach and drummed your fingers on your belly. You removed your foot away from his cheek prior to wiggling your toes. Your ankles were still draped on his shoulders. The man had made no move to shift away from your touch. He appeared, for whatever reason, to be content in this position. It all could have passed for normal couplehood if not for the residual fact he had attempted to have you murdered.

With a huff, you pulled back your legs long enough to turn onto your belly. You then set your feet on either side of him. His gaze felt so palpable. Roaming along your exposed ass cheeks. You crossed your arms in front of yourself, and rested the side of your face atop them.

“So long as I am alive, you are royalty as well. What a joke.” You managed to keep a sense of disinterest and dismissiveness as you spoke. This was a man who craved power, who relished in holding positions above others. He had nearly thrown away one of his titles without a second thought. Royalty—for some that would have been enough. Your husband was an ambitious man indeed; being a king and general were not enough to satisfy his cravings. “A General King. A Bastard King with his Whore Wife.” A snort from behind you followed by a dry chuckle.

The idea that he truly did regard you as nothing more than a body to either rid himself of or else to fuck kept you from truly enjoying your own joke. General Hux at long last stood. You felt the material of a blanket being draped over your body, covering you as though he was attempting to preserve your dignity.

“The attempt on your life has turned you into a rather bitter individual,” the man remarked. You could have rolled your eyes at the statement. Of _course_ it had! This was the man who had ordered you be murdered, of course you were bitter towards him. He seemed to be pressing for details again. You waited for a specific question to be asked, and you were not disappointed. “Do you recall anything new?”

“No,” you replied truthfully. “Nothing new.”

“Sometimes it does feel that you blame me for what happened.” You nearly spluttered, yet managed to catch yourself and thus have no reaction. The man was definitely fishing. You furrowed your brow, doing all that you could to take on an expression of confusion. “You were not bitter towards me before it occurred. Distant in your own way, perhaps. Yet you’ve become rather hostile.”

“You’re keeping me from speaking with my father. Of course I’m hostile,” you managed to say without missing a beat.

“If that is all, we shall arrange a call for tomorrow. It would be proper to thank him for the gift—though you clearly have no desire to put it to its correct use.” Before you received a chance to retort, your husband left his quarters. It was better this way; you had no desire to have him retract his offer to call your father. There had to be some way that you could convey the situation to him. You simply needed time to think, and you had several hours before tomorrow.


	6. Soft

Soft

You felt so hot and wet when you first saw your husband naked. The heat and wetness were both due to the shower you were taking. Your eyes shot wide open when the man joined you without an invitation, and your gaze had dropped down to his front. The sight of his cock caused you to take a step away from him in retreat. You did not wish to touch him. You would _not_ consummate the marriage, not with this treacherous man. With a snort, General Hux maneuvered his body closer to the spray, his back now to you as he proceeded to lather soap in his hands. You crossed your legs, using your hands to cover your breasts by cupping them. It hardly did any good; he had already seen you naked now.

With a sniffle, you turned your head to stare at the wall. Hopefully he would leave soon. He usually took rather quick showers. With your husband hogging the water, you were beginning to feel cold despite the steam. You spared a quick glance at the back of man’s head. He was in the process of scrubbing his hair, his fingers raking through those short locks. With another huff, you again directed your attention over to the wall. That did not stop you from behind able to see his actions in your peripheral. As he finished rinsing his hair, he turned and faced you.

For his part, you did have to give him credit for keeping his eyes above your neck. The man was gauging your reactions. You wondered how much he was enjoying your discomfort, especially after you had denied him sex the previous day when donning your father’s tactless gift.

“You’re quite soft, aren’t you?”

“Geez, you’re a pig,” you spat, your lips pulling back in a snarl.

The man snorted, tilting his head back and looking down the length of his nose at you. “I hardly mean physically.” You narrowed your eyes in suspicion. General Hux’s lips quirked towards one side, a smirk forming there. “I well aware that you know I was the one to order you be killed.” You felt your mouth go dry at his words. He was laying it all out. This man had nothing to lose, not with you backed into a corner as you were. You pressed your body closer to the wall in an attempt to further retreat from him. “I was waiting, wondering if you would conjure up some lie. You must know why I aimed to have you killed. You’ve hinted as much. Why not claim that you overheard someone on the planet giving the order? You could very well have given me plenty of ammunition to fulfill my intentions. Was it the couple who saved you? You owe them _nothing_.”

It was quite possibly an unconscious gesture on his part that he pressed ever closer to you. His chest nearly touched your hands, his face directly in front of yours. You could not read his expression, not fully. There were almost hints of frustration. Confusion. As though he could not fathom why you had not turned merciless towards the planet whose inhabitants had saved you. Become selfish. Play along with his war games.

Terror ran through you as you began to wonder if your father did secretly know what had occurred. Did your father wish for you to consummate your marriage with this man as a way to endear you to him? If General Hux began to care for you at all, would you still be considered an acceptable loss to him? If that had been the intention behind your father’s gift, had he been seeking to protect you in a strange and abhorrent way, you found that you could forgive him.

“Please get out of the shower,” you said, keeping your voice low as you fought to hold back all your frustrations and hurt. You did not want to give into your fear either. You had been brought into this conversation on _his_ terms. You refused to yield to his advantages.

Rather than oblige, General Hux moved his lips onto yours. A quick kiss, yet his lips hovered there. You could feel your lips beginning to quiver. He truly was merciless, your husband. You blinked past the tears that were growing out of humiliation as much as the other torrent of emotions you were experiencing. A second kiss that was just as brief. He again paused while remaining close to you. Was his intention to see you cry? Or was he simply attempting to coax an answer out of you? To get you to scream out an answer out of desperation.

One thing he was not doing was using his hands to touch you. He was still obeying your order in that respect, the demand that he not touch you.

“Don’t kiss me,” you tried. And all at once the kisses did stop. General Hux rested his forehead against his hand. He truly was waiting for an answer. “The thought that you would do just the same to my own planet—why would I give into your wants when I didn’t know what it would mean for my planet?”

“Your planet has not given the First Order any trouble at all. I would not destroy it simply because _you_ choose to be a brat.” You clenched your teeth at his words, not entirely certain if you were comforted or enraged. It was likely both.

It was at this point that he pushed off the wall. Your eyes trailed after him as your husband left the shower. You waited, listening, until you were certain that he would not reenter. Then you stepped forward into the spray and began to clean yourself. You felt more dirty than when you had first entered the shower. You scrubbed furiously at your flesh. Too hard. That didn’t matter. You wanted to rid yourself of the feeling of helplessness that had welled up within you.

Your husband did not venture to speak with you again for the remainder of the day. Nor did he fulfill your desire to talk with your father. Not that you pressed him to do so. You had instead locked yourself away in the quarters you shared with him, and were thankful that he remained away all night.

The morning arrived—still no sign of your husband. You had food brought to you, dressed in one of your more flattering dresses, and decided to leave the quarters. You ignored the looks you received from officers and technicians. Your husband was likely on the bridge, which caused you to avoid that direction. The _Finalizer_ bustled with the workers of the First Order. You held their attention for only so long. This suited you, as it meant no one was stopping you. That was a fear of yours—that you would not be allowed to move about freely.

You managed to find yourself in one of the hangars. TIE Fighters were lined up, so numerous that you found your jaw dropping. The might of the First Order always caught you off guard even though you never truly forgot it. General Hux wished to unleash this might on the planet you had been visiting. The planet he had intended to be your death. Not to destroy it, you realized. To completely conquer it. General Hux wanted to eliminate something on that planet that was standing in his way. The same way you would potentially stand in his way if you did not yield to him. Your planet was still useful to him in its entirety. Your father clearly would work with the man no matter the cost. Even you. To your father, you were a suitable sacrifice for peace.

What would happen if you ran away?

Though your position in life had ensured that you knew some things of the political nature, you had also been kept in the dark when it came to other aspects. You had been married to a man who would take over your planet as king if your father passed—or else your people would elect a new line. You had never been intended to rule. This had not been anything you had lamented over despite viewing it as unfair; you simply thought it a stupid part of life that was unavoidable. You were a political tool, but you had believed for so long that you could also be someone deserving of love. Specifically, deserving your husband’s love. That had been before your father had arranged your marriage to General Hux.

Mrs. Armitage Hux.

“Don’t be foolish.” You blinked at the sound of Kylo Ren’s voice. This man you had seen only a handful of times, one of which had been during your union with General Hux. You knew that he was both respected and feared by those in the First Order. Rumor had it that he wielded the Force. This you had yet to see with your own eyes.

“I can daydream if I want,” you said gently, knowing it was better to not antagonize this man. The helmet that had been pointed your way turned to one of the TIEs you had been eyeing. “I am sure you’re aware I have no skills as a pilot.” A light noise from him. You suspected from this that _he_ was a capable pilot. “You imagine yourself married to the man—imagine that, and tell me you wouldn’t want to fly away.” The noise that escaped him this time was obvious laughter. “Please let me daydream for a little bit longer. I won’t make more work for you, Master Ren.”

He did not respond this time, and the man also failed to walk away. Kylo Ren stood there with you. You were not sure how you felt about his company. In a way it was nice; there was no one for you to socialize with without having to worry that they would report to General Hux. Ren, meanwhile, possessed no such inclinations to spy on you for your husband. He did whatever he wanted. A sort of self-entitled man. You had known such people when you had been younger. They had had no Force sensitivity though.

“What’s it like to have power, Master Ren?”

“If you are careful, you may learn it for yourself.”

That was something you appreciated about the man. He held himself back from being compassionate and instead remained matter-of-fact. What he said was not to comfort you at all. It was truth. You had more cards to play if you were careful. Still, it would mean making sacrifices.

Too much time had passed since you had been on the planet in order to play into Hux’s wishes and blame them. You had to make yourself useful to him in some way. If you wanted to have any sort of revenge, you had to decide what things you were willing to lose.

 _He wants me to warm his bed,_ you thought, your stomach churning. _Consummate this marriage… I just wanted love. I wanted to protect my planet._

“I don’t think I’m ready to lose my virginity to him,” you said before you realized that you were voicing your thoughts. Your gaze flew to the man beside you. His visor was pointed your way, the mask dipping down then up—down again. You had managed to catch him off guard. Clearing your throat, you forced yourself to shrug. “I mean…” You waved your hand. “We’ll pretend I did not say that, if that’s okay with you.”

“Very well.”

You were struck by the idea that marrying Kylo Ren may have been easier. _No… No, he would have killed me himself._


	7. Patience

Patience

For a little while longer you were graced with Kylo Ren’s company. The man walked alongside you from the hangar to roughly two-thirds of the way to the quarters you shared with your husband. His presence caused you to wonder why you were not more heavily guarded. If the general had rivals in the First Order, they could easily use you to their advantage. Or did the officers not resort to such tricks? Family members were generally not aboard any of the vessels; not even those belonging to other superior officers. Then again, you were unsure how many others had spouses with ties to a royal family.

In that respect, you supposed the First Order itself would want you safe—that is, as long as you were not playing the role of pawn. General Hux’s marriage to you gave him more power. In a political debate, his words would likely hold more weight than his opponent depending upon the matter at hand. You knew that you would be used in this way now. Why would you still be alive if not?

You returned to the inside of the quarters you shared with your husband. _Share,_ you thought with a snort. Somehow, you knew already that he would not be returning to the room. The man was indeed rather dedicated to his work. You amused yourself in his absence with daydreams and looking through his possessions. He was rather simple. Nothing of leisure. _He places extreme value on his time,_ your mind supplied. _Which means he will visit me only to ensure I am being moved into a position he can use me._

The bed had fresh sheets on it, which meant that one of the maintenance droids had entered in your absence. Things aboard the _Finalizer_ always ran smoothly, or as smoothly as was possible. Work, work, work. It made sense given your setting, and yet it left you feeling all the more alone. Perhaps that was precisely how General Hux wished you to feel. It would make you desperate to please him in order to have any sort of company.

You climbed onto the bed, lying down on your back with your legs bent at the knees. Even the ceiling was clean. _Ridiculous._ This became only the first night that you slept alone. During the day, you rummaged through your belongings and even inspected items that belonged to your husband. Nothing sentimental. His medals were not proudly put on display either, but instead placed in a box that was bolted to the floor. You eyed each piece with mild curiosity. Did he take pride in these? Or did the man view them as mere stepping stones to his ultimate goal?

When you grew bored of this, you replaced all the medals in the box and rose from the floor. Boring. It was boring here for you, and it made you miss your life on your home planet all the more.

On the third day, you returned to the hangar. This time Kylo Ren did not meet you there. He was, to your knowledge, either on the bridge or else away on a mission. Captain Phasma lectured several stormtroopers who had disembarked from transport shuttles. New recruits. The First Order often treated the ‘troopers as easily replaceable tools. Why had you been so caught off guard that General Hux would view you in that same light? Because you were the man’s wife and not some random soldier programmed from birth. You had assumed that he agreed to the marriage for political reasons as well as a desire to have you carry on his line—a line that would thenceforth be connected to royal family.

If you were to do as Kylo Ren had, in a way, suggested; that is to say, that if you were to place yourself once more into a position of power, you would need to learn more of your husband’s world. It would assist you in better understanding his mind. That was his greatest weapon. On your way back to the quarters, you dropped by one of the data storage facilities that was aboard the _Finalizer_. It housed only basic First Order propaganda, tutorials, and even manuals for the newer officers. These were precisely what you needed to start with. You checked over the titles. You had no need for the manuals on proper uniform care. Noteworthy politicians of the Empire? Yes, that would be a good start indeed; these were likely the men and women your husband viewed as heroes of the past. Or…something to that effect. You remembered passing statements of the Empire having been flawed. The First Order wished to be something far greater.

This text you tugged out, determining it best to take only one at a time. You wanted General Hux to think of you as being bored rather than plotting against him. Not that he wouldn’t be on his guard—he clearly was. That would be another thing you would need to remedy. You had to get the man to trust you. This would take time. How frustrating, you thought, puffing out air through pursed lips.

You could not be completely accommodating with the man all at once either without rousing more suspicion. To begin at all, your husband would need to be in the same room as you. This was a matter you did not mind having a delay. It would allow you to read more, which in turn would increase your chances of progress with the man.

The bed was empty. Lonely. A comfortable loneliness that did not cause you displeasure. You alternated between sitting on it and the chair that General Hux sometimes occupied. Reading. Reading though your eyes glazed over as boredom threatened to overwhelm you. The text was not exciting save for in a handful of portions. This was the sort of text that you would have to look over on more than a single read-through. An abundance of information, some useful to you and other bits unnecessary.

Dinner brought with it a case of food poisoning, which left you hunched over the toilet for a large chunk of the night. The book was somewhere on the floor or beside the chair. You weren’t sure which location was the correct one, and frankly did not care when at last you were able to slip under the covers of the bed. You felt achy, cold, and exhausted. Due to your current state, it did not take you long to fall asleep.

A shift behind you caused you to stir. You sighed at the feeling of an arm set gently on your side. The man behind you was breathing gently enough to indicate he was sleeping. The bottle of electrolyte enhanced water that was seated beside your pillow and in your view told you that for some reason your husband did see a benefit in keeping you alive now. Not that you were going to complain. The aches in your body had only spread as you slept. You greedily, albeit slowly and with shaky hands, grabbed the bottle, opened it, and took a small sip. Your actions caused your husband to stir.

His arm slipped off of your hip, the man turning over with a quiet huff. You glanced over your shoulder, eyeing him. Even in the darkness you could tell he was utterly exhausted. Had he slept? Catnaps? Anything at all since he had left you alone in these quarters? While you were grateful for the drink he had brought for you, it did not erase the fact that he had arranged for you to be killed. You kept your gratitude to yourself.

 _He’d likely lecture me about interrupting his sleep at any rate,_ you thought whilst enjoying one last sip before resealing the bottle. You set it beside your pillow again, lying down and closing your eyes. Hux waited a beat before turning over, his arm curling around you as it had been when you had awoken. You hardly reacted. Tensed up momentarily, glanced down at the limb in the darkness, and then continued to lie there without say a word. Somehow you knew that eventually he would break the silence. You kept your breathing as soft as possible while also refusing to allow yourself to fall asleep.

He did not disappoint. “You are quite nosey,” he whispered. Where were the cameras hidden in the room, you wondered. “Yet clearly you are attempting to keep yourself occupied and out of the way. I have scheduled communications with your father for three days from now. For your benefit, that is.”

Were you supposed to thank him for something that should have been a given? Gritting your teeth, you took a deep breath to swallow down your rising irritation. It was only going to upset your sensitive stomach anyhow. “I appreciate that.”

“These things can be intercepted. Do not be so quick to be hostile, dear wife. There are security precautions. The last thing I need is for the Resistance to discover our location solely because you need to speak with your father.”

 _He has a decent point,_ you thought begrudgingly. Even if you did hate your husband, you were not stubborn enough to deny facts. The Resistance discovering the _Finalizer_ during a conversation with your father would also put your planet at risk.

“I understand,” you whispered. Behind you, your husband grunted. It was enough to remind you how he thought of you. A body to entertain himself with. A pawn. Kylo Ren was correct, though. You could use this to your advantage. The marriage was to ensure the safety of your planet. _Don’t throw that away._ General Hux kept his arm around you, and though a part of you hated his presence, you also welcomed the gesture. Baby steps, you thought, and then I can use this man. _He will be the pawn, not me._


	8. Teaching

Teaching

Though you had continuously told yourself that you would take baby steps, your husband was settling for nothing less than a leap. You shuddered, your mouth opening so that you could breathe more properly. The body aches of having suffered food poisoning had diminished a little. Your mind hardly registered those lingering pains though. You had awoken to the strange sensation you knew to be arousal. A hand on your clothed pussy, rubbing you in circles, alternating the amount of pressure applied. Your nipples were already hardening. Part of your body screamed for you to lean into the touch, yet you moved to pull away. Your ass was thus pressed more tightly against _his_ front. The bulge of his erection caused you to swallow thickly. Your husband rocked his hips into yours upon realizing that you were awake.

He had you panting, and you hated him for it. Hated him because you knew that if you gave in, you could find a way to use it to your advantage. It hadn’t been something you wanted to use just yet. The fear that rejecting him would cause the mistrust to grow again, however, had you holding your tongue.

General Hux pressed the heel of his hand more tightly against your cunt, hooking his fingers between your legs. He curled and uncurled them. You pressed your legs closer together then tried to spread them—and once more squeezed them. All the while he was pumping his hips into yours. You realized that you were moving in unison with him. Meeting his touches. He was showing once more that he was a master manipulator. “Tell me to stop,” he growled in your ear. His breath was hot. For some reason it had your eyelashes fluttering. This display of power. You wanted to fight against him, while at the same time you were beginning to drown in the pleasure he was keen on delivering.

“Did you give me food poisoning?” you asked through your attempts to breathe. You were panting, your chest heavy. You placed one hand over his, not to stop it. And the other you used to grab at his hip. The material of his bottoms bunched underneath your fingers. “Hmm?” The sound was mingled with a moan. It was desperate—and hearing that desperation from you caused your husband to groan. You felt your body reacting all the more. Felt how wet your panties were growing. You did not doubt he could feel that wetness on his fingers. He started to move them faster, his lips on your jawline.

Your husband rolled, moving you onto your stomach, yanking your rear up as though you were an animal in heat. He did not stop touching you for even a moment. Still rubbing circles. You braced yourself with your hands, clenching your teeth to try to stifle your moans. Your entire body trembled at the effort it took.

“No,” he said. And, for some reason, you believed him. He had not poisoned you…but he was willing to take advantage of your weakened state. Such a merciless man, your husband.

Air escaped your lungs in a single breath, your eyes wide as saucers as the touching briefly ceased. He yanked down your bottoms and pushed your shirt up so that there was nothing between your flesh and his. He replaced his hand on you, exactly as it had been before. His fingers, this time, easily slipped between your folds.

“Mm. I’m going to teach you how to warm my bed, princess,” the man said. You could hear the way he was clenching his teeth. Tears were gathering in the corners of your eyes. You had never been touched this way. It bothered you that it was this man delivering such pleasure. He smeared your juices back and forth, pinching and teasing your clitoris. You were bucking into his touches, feeling the material of his pants against your ass. That hard cock. “You’re going to learn your place.”

This time when the touches stopped, he had both hands on your hips, yanking you around and shoving you against the bed. You stared up at him, eyes still wide. Your heart hammered in your chest. General Hux’s nostrils flared. He tugged down his pants, gripping his cock in one hand, pumping it. Your eyes watched his every move, your chest rising and falling with each of your rather noisy breaths. Your husband shoved apart your legs, moving between them and rubbing the head of his cock along you. Your teeth clattered this time as you shuddered. The man above you smirked.

He could likely see the fear that you held. Even if he had been someone you cared for, you would have been nervous.

As he began to push up into you, your hands flew to his chest. You clawed at the material of his shirt, whimpering and shuddering. You were plenty wet enough that the pain was not unbearable. It hurt and was uncomfortable, and you squirmed underneath him. General Hux was also trembling now, the man swearing and moaning.

“Kriff, that’s it,” he groaned, fully entering you. “Mmm. You’re so kriffing tight for me. So wet. Good girl, that’s right. Kriff. Take it.” You felt a few of the tears slipping out of the corners of your eyes. Your body was adjusting to the feel of him inside of you. He was rolling his hips so that he brushed your clit. Physically, you were in a state of ecstasy even though your mind was torn.

You arched your back, your legs winding around him. In all honesty, you had pictured him as being selfish in bed. Having no desire to arouse you, to pleasure you. Yet he was taking pride in getting you off. Even though you knew it was, in his view, a means of having power over you, it was preferable to your fears. Your previous thoughts were some of the reasons you had wished to delay consummating the marriage. His mouth was by your ear, whispering and groaning praise. Derogatory in some way, as though you were beneath him—and more than just physically. Yet somehow there was this almost tenderness growing.

General Hux pulled out of you, pushing you up towards the wall. You did not fight against him. Your hands were on his shoulders as he reentered you. “Ah…I…” You buried your face into the crook of his neck. “Nn.”

His hands were on your ass, fingertips digging into you. You could feel him starting to nibble at your ear. Your vision blurred as you came. His body continued to move with yours, the man thrusting up into you until he ejaculated. “Kriff, that’s right.”

Sweat was beaded across your flesh. Your muscles were exhausted, from both your first experience with sex and the food poisoning. You collapsed against your husband, who pulled you off his cock and lifted you up into his arms. Your eyes shot open. The man who had attempted to have you killed now carried you into the refresher. You were set in the tub, and you watched as General Hux turned on the warm water and grabbed a washcloth. Your mind was buzzing. You had not yet come down from the high provided by your orgasm. He dipped the cloth into the water then traced it on your flesh.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice feeling thick in your throat.

Your husband hummed in acknowledgement yet did not answer you verbally. He had enjoyed his position of power over you. It reminded you of Kylo Ren’s words. Play your cards right and you would be in a position of power as well.

“Uhm…if… Next… I…” You dropped your stare down at the water rising in the tub. “Not when I’m…”

General Hux paused, the washcloth still pressed against you. “Very well, dear wife.” He spoke passively, yet you knew that he was being sincere. If it meant you submitting to his carnal desires, he would oblige such a request. His hand began to move again. The warm cloth felt good on your breast. Massaging you. “You could have said no.”

“I know.” Your voice did not pitch in the least. You were blunt, honest. You _did_ know. “You…stopped the other times. Whenever I told you to not touch or kiss me, you stopped.”

“I was taking advantage of your body being tired from the food poisoning.”

He was not being honest for no reason at all. You could feel his eyes boring into you. Observing your every reaction, each alteration in your expression. He dropped the washcloth down to your lap, dabbing lightly around your thighs. You winced, finding that you were a little sore in that area. General Hux shut off the water. It was only just over your lap. You were fine with that. He was, after all, collecting the warmth into the cloth and then bringing it to your shoulders. Rubbing, massaging again. Maybe only as an excuse to keep touching you.

“Tell me…” You paused until he made a noise that urged you to continue. “Did you always know that you would try to have me killed?”

“No,” he said without hesitation. “Shortly after our…union…when I received that call, it was in regards to the planet. The need to have it occupied by our forces in full. Yet there would need to be a proper excuse. If we start moving in as the Empire had, too many flags would be raised. If, however, there was a proper catalyst…you became a pawn. Before that, I accepted the marriage as a necessary tool to secure your planet and as a means to have an available body.”

“You’re despicable.” You shrugged away from his touch, scooting in the tub so that you were half a foot away from him.

General Hux allowed you several seconds of silence. When he spoke, there was no emotion in his voice. “If you believe any other potential husband would have possessed a different view of you, you are mistaken. This harsh reality you _will_ learn to accept.”

Though you wanted to scream out a contradiction, you found yourself remaining silent. He was right. As much as you hated it, what he said was the truth. All your life you had known this. That you would be married to someone for a political reason. That they would want you in their bed. You were a tool for your planet’s loyalty. You drew your knees up to your chest and wrapped your arms around them as you lowered your head. You suddenly did not care if this man saw you crying.

“Go away,” you hissed.

He did not. General Hux tugged off his shirt and climbed into the bathtub with you. He was pulling your body closer to his. You wrinkled your nose. A large part of you wanted to push him away. But, even in your despair and frustration, you knew this was part of that aforementioned card game. His hands were roaming you. Not too lecherous. Though he did grope you, he also seemed keen on continuing to rub your sore muscles. He wanted your body available to him. He had enjoyed himself. Or else he wanted you to look presentable for when your father had contact in a few days.

“It would not be wise to keep my as your enemy,” he said. This caused you to uncurl a little, enough so that you could best listen. “In a week’s time, you and I will attend a…function. Some social gathering where you and I will be present—as husband and wife.”

“Play nice, basically,” you growled, still bitter.

“I cannot have your natural reaction to shrink away from simple touches continue. The public does not need to know of our quarrels.” It made sense, you thought, that he would pursue sex in this case. You were already flinching away less often. More comfortable with this close proximity. General Hux tugged you onto his lap. His hand moved between your legs, working against you in a similar manner to that which had caused you to rouse from sleep. You squirmed, yet once more did not tell him to stop.

The man shoved his leg between yours, spreading your thighs with his knee as he plunged a finger into you. Your hands gripped that knee when you felt yourself start to pitch forward. Not that you would fall; his other arm was wrapped around you to prevent such a thing from occurring.

“Such a waste it would have been for you to die.” You ground your teeth at his words. He sounded as though he honestly regretted the fact that he had intended for you to be killed; regretted it because he liked fucking you. General Hux leaned forward, grabbing your hands and setting them on the edge of the tub. He instructed you to hold on. You complied, knowing it would be foolish to disobey.

Hands on your ass, hoisting it up higher. You felt something slick toying with your folds. A soft gasp, the sudden rush of air escaping your lungs. It was his tongue, your mind told you. You nearly jumped as that tongue delved into you. You could both feel and hear him slurping up your juices. Your blood seemed to be pulsing in your ears. As though you were underwater. It caused you to gulp given that you could feel the bathwater. Vertigo.

General Hux caught you when you started to slip. He steadied you and pulled his face away. You swallowed, feeling his cock being lined up with your entrance. Your grip tightened on the tub. He was more forceful than the previous time. So much so that at first you felt no pleasure. Then he dropped one hand to your breast. Rubbing, kneading, pinching and tugging at your nipple. He mouthed the back of your neck. His tongue swiping up and down. You started to meet his thrusts.

“That’s it,” he groaned. “Good girl.” You hung your head. “You love this, don’t you? Your husband’s cock inside of you.” Drool dripped out of your mouth onto the floor. You hated that he was right. “Do you still want me to go find some kitchen whore?”

“Oh…” You bit your lip to keep from giving him the satisfaction of you telling him no.


	9. Alliance

Alliance

When done with fucking you in the bathtub, your husband again took you up into his arms, this time to return you to the bed. He had wrapped a towel about your body, and you clutched at its sides, your arms crossed over your chest and hands touching the opposite shoulders. Your eyes did not leave him as he drew away from you long enough for him to dress in fresh clothing. The pants were not uniform though they were still in regulations. Exercise wear, you noted when he pulled on a matching shirt. Goosebumps were beginning to pimple along your flesh. There was a light chill in the room. The food poisoning coupled with the two rounds of sex had left you exhausted. General Hux rubbing your muscles had, admittedly, aided in relieving some of the tension.

There was a space heater in the man’s quarters that you had generally ignored; your husband now pressed a button, and the machine clicked twice as it came to life. You remained where he had left you, keeping perfectly still while you observed his actions. Now that he was no longer indulging himself with your body, you did not know how he would treat you. This was far from an ideal relationship, you thought. It truly was more a business arrangement than anything. As had been occurring for some time now, you felt your thoughts wandering to your brief meeting with Kylo Ren.

General Hux and Kylo Ren did not seem to hold any well wishes towards the other; they cooperated when necessary and enough to ensure that the First Order did not fall apart. Otherwise their relationship was a rivalry. You doubted that Kylo Ren would be content if you attempted to use him as a tool to gain footing over your husband. The Force user was far too prideful for anything of the sort.

Your mind was jerked back to the present when the redhead stepped closer to you. You blinked twice then lowered your gaze to his feet. The man had likely been observing you for longer than you had realized. “How are you feeling?” Despite the question, there was a lack of tenderness in his words. His mood had shifted, the man becoming more detached than he had been during—well, you would hardly call it lovemaking. Your hesitation in answering his question prompted him to speak again. “Drink more of the water. As I stated, in a week’s time you will be accompanying me. Should you allow your health to decline, I will be greatly disappointed.”

It was difficult to know whether or not there was an underlying threat. With a scowl, you dropped one hand away from the towel, which sagged and revealed the top portion of your breast, and reached backwards for the aforementioned liquid. This caused the material to pull even further away from you. Those cold blue eyes roamed along your chest and dropped to your lap. You kept your gaze averted, not wanting to meet his eyes. Your husband was rather skilled in making you feel objectified.

_At least Ren acknowledges that I’m human, even if he does seem annoyed by it._

The Force user, you had long ago surmised, spoke to you mostly to ensure that you never made his job more difficult—he did not want to chase after you should you choose to flee General Hux. It was not respect, not exactly. Though, you hated to admit, Kylo Ren likely _did_ respect you more than your husband did.

“I’m tired,” you said when you lowered the bottle of electrolyte infused water. The redhead made a small noise that sounded to you like something of a _I’m hardly surprised_.

“I suggest you sleep then,” he said, his voice taking on a lecturing tone. You fought back a snarl of disgust and frustration. “You may research ways to rid yourself of me when you are feeling better.” Maker, you _despised_ this man.

You pushed yourself up off the bed, your legs wobbling a little as you made your way over to the closet in which your clothes were kept. You leaned against the doorframe, slowly squatting then kneeling on the floor as your hands began to rummage through some of the clothes that had fallen to the ground in the past. You tossed the lingerie that your father had gifted you into the far corner whilst squeezing your eyes closed. You had enjoyed the sex, you would not deny that. You did wish it had been with someone else, someone who genuinely cared for you.

“Ren would have been better,” you whispered, unable to keep your barbed tongue stilled. You wanted to hurt and shame this man the same way he was able to do to you.

Yet there was no hurt in his voice when he responded. “Perhaps, perhaps not. Either way, he would view you as a mere body, a way to pass the time—he is taught that sentiment has no place in his life. I doubt you understand the Force, and I have no interest in explaining it or how the Dark side works to you.”

Your hands stilled, palms down on a nightgown that you had not worn since you had been on your home planet. Hux’s words seemed to imply that he _did_ , in some way, think of you as more than just a body. Not that he loved you; he did not. He did have a habit of sitting with you from time to time; not beside you, however in the same room. Being there in your presence as though he somehow enjoyed your company. While Kylo Ren had stood beside you and talked to you a handful of times, you had felt the emotional distance he placed between the two of you.

“I don’t believe he’d be as cold as you’re implying,” you said at last, drawing out the nightgown and working your way into it. You allowed the towel to drop to the floor then kicked it to the side. Turning once you were dressed, you met those blue eyes with your stare. “I would be lonely still—but at least he would have killed me himself if that had been his wish.”

Rather than become displeased by your goading, your husband had a small smile. He nodded once to himself. You wondered what he was thinking, what it was he was picturing. Did he agree with your assessment? Or was he inwardly gloating over the fact that Kylo Ren would not have been able to use you as a tool to attack the planet either? His rivalry with the Force user may not be something to your advantage at all, you realized. It would only create more tension—they would both be willing to use you as a tool to get under the other’s skin if the opportunity presented itself.

 _I’ll be extra careful,_ you thought with a sigh. You returned to the bed, slipping under the covers and lying there with your back to the man. You felt the mattress shift as he joined you. You wrinkled your nose, having previously hoped that he would return to work despite the fact that he had dressed in lounge clothes.

This time when he slipped an arm over your hip, you did not flinch. You tensed a little and looked down, however it was a more natural reaction than the exaggerated avoidance that had existed in the past. The two of you had a week to master the art of pretending to fully enjoy the other’s company. You needed to succeed as much as your husband did. It was for the sake of your planet that you had to keep up appearances; a poor reflection on the First Order and your planet would be had if you acted like a spoiled brat or as though you despised your husband. You huffed at that thought. You did hate him. All the same, you appreciated the way he had touched the back of your hand with two fingers and was drawing lazy curlicues along your flesh. Some semblance of a normal relationship.

Instead of attempting to fool one another that you were on the same side, both of you would have to increase your acting skills and fool the universe.

When you next awoke, General Hux was no longer in his quarters. You turned over on the bed and stared at the empty spot that still held evidence of his having been there. The aches in your body had died down more, although your stomach felt rather crampy. You did not have a desire to eat. Lying there in bed, you cupped your right breast while biting down on your bottom lip. It was dreadful, the way you felt almost empty without him inside of you. You attributed this to having never been so filled in the past. The muscles stretched around him, stretched for the very first time in that manner. The sensation would leave, and you hoped that this would occur sooner rather than later.

The space heater was still working, a small clicking noise from it drawing your attention. _In sickness and in health_. You rolled your eyes at the irony of it all. In health, he had been willing to have you murdered. Now that you had been plagued with a case of food poisoning, Armitage _was_ tending to you. You had a difficult time keeping up with him.

You remained in bed, save to use the refresher, until midway through the cycle. At that point, you rinsed down in the shower and dressed in something more presentable. You exited the quarters that you shared with your husband and began to wander through the _Finalizer_. As usual, some of the officers and technicians took a moment to look your way. The stormtroopers generally avoided you except when they were obligated to inform you that you could not pass through whatever door they were guarding. You had no clear destination in mind this time; you wanted to familiarize yourself with the vessel. As many locations as possible—anything to gain some semblance of an edge on your husband. This was his territory, but you would make it your own.

Just as that thought passed through your mind, you turned the corner and crashed against a body. Hands met your hips; familiar hands. You narrowed your eyes a little as you stared at the chest that belonged to the redhead that so complicated your life.

“Wife,” he said, and you nearly snorted at the greeting. You almost preferred when he referred to you as _princess_. “We currently have a small window if you wish to speak with your father.”

Your breath hitched. Tilting back your head a little, you stared at him with wide eyes. General Hux cocked his head towards the right. Though you did not verbally respond, the man took the initiative in placing a hand on your upper back and starting to direct you towards a room in which the conversation would take place. The pair of you passed by several doors before he murmured for you to stop. Armitage punched in a code on the panel, his body blocking your view and preventing you from memorizing the numbers. He allowed you to enter the room first, sealing the door after he was with you.

There were three different consoles in the room on one side, and on the other was a communications device with a holoprojector that you knew to be top of the line. You watched as your husband tapped a button on the device. A light illuminated the room, which had previously been kept from darkness by three dimmed bulbs and an assortment of lit up buttons on the consoles. A device on the wall behind the holoprojector you recognized as being a scrambler. This would help to prevent transmissions from being picked up by the Resistance and other enemies of the First Order.

Your father’s face then body flickered into view. You took a single step forward though you knew this hardly did anything other than adjust how much of your body that your father could see. General Hux moved to your side as your father said your name in greeting. No, not quite your name. _Mrs. Armitage Hux._ You felt as though something had socked you in the gut.

“General Hux,” your father went on, addressing your husband though he kept his gaze on you. You stared at his image while swallowing down your hurt. This had to be kept formal, you knew; that did not mean you had to enjoy it. “I see that you are doing well despite the food poisoning.” You were not entirely surprised that your father was aware of this; it only made sense that your husband would preempt you in discussing unpleasant matters.

“Yes, I am feeling better now.” You hesitated for half a beat then added: “Armitage ensured that I was tended to.” Said man was standing with his arms crossed behind his back and refraining from commenting. His fingers twitched when you commented on his actions; you caught this movement in the corner of your eye. “I…” Your voice trailed off, and you lowered your eyes to the ground. There was much you wished to tell your father, though you knew that it would be foolish. Saying that you missed him would only hurt; neither of you could change the fact that you were apart. On top of that, you did not want to appear so vulnerable in front of General Hux.

“It is important that vows are honored,” he said. General Hux lifted his chin a little though he failed to remark on the fact that two of you had officially consummated the marriage. Had he already said as much when he had informed your father of the food poisoning? “Enemies would use any fractures between you to their advantage.”

You pursed your lips and knit your brow in confusion. Turning to your husband, you attempted to find answers in his face. He kept his expression neutral, however, and spared you only a quick glance before looking to the holoprojector. Either the First Order was facing adversity that you were unaware of, or else there was a threat to your planet. A threat that would be eliminated so long as you played your role as General Hux’s wife. You loathed that you were being kept in the dark when it came to whatever was the case.

Did the upcoming event have anything to do with it?

“I am…learning how to, uhm, best serve,” you said, scrunching up your face as you thought of how best to phrase things. Your father nodded a single time. “I feel out of my element here.” It was safe to say this in front of your husband, it was something that he already was aware of.

“Then continue learning,” your father said, a softness to his voice that told you he did miss you despite how he was forced to act. He did wish for your safety, and he undoubtedly knew what position you had been placed in by marrying General Hux. “Stubbornness can be an asset, however often it becomes a weakness.”

It was difficult to tell whether he was saying this to you or to the redhead. His eyes roamed the both of you.

The connection was broken, the window in which the Resistance would definitively be unable to intercept the transmission now coming to a close. You remained staring at the empty space where the holoimage had previously been. “Is my father in danger?”

“Were he, you have no reason to worry,” Armitage drawled. “His death would mean that either I would take the throne, which would be impossible at this time and thus resulting my abdicating and allowing another to rule; or else _you_ would take the throne, and I hardly trust you enough to do so. We are not, we both understand, on the best of terms.”

“Well…this is hardly the first time it’s been implied that my father’s life is worth more than mine.” As you spoke, you walked to the door and hit the panel. The door remained closed, which had you scowling. You did not want to be near your husband any longer. Not when you felt hot with frustration, your eyes threatening to water. Everyone seemed to view you as nothing more than a tool. You were _more_ than that, much more.

“It was hardly an insult.” His voice was quieter though he still allowed no emotion to enter. “You are a more formidable opponent than your father. If you believe that he is not always looking for a means of gaining the upper-hand, you are incorrect. He plays by _my_ rules, which is how he remains useful to me. You, on the other hand, have a tendency to meet me move for move.”

You pulled your hand away from the control panel. The heat that had once been frustration now transformed into a combination of pride and confusion. Footsteps behind you preceded the hand that grazed the back of your neck as he drew aside your hair. His fingers pinched the zipper of your gown. You could both feel and hear it being drawn downwards. The air on your bared flesh had you shuddering. You stood there without making a move to stop him. Though you knew he was doing this to train your body to comply with his demands, you somehow felt powerful. He _needed_ you to submit to him. That, in a strange way, put you in charge of this situation.

His hands met your shoulders next, and he pushed the sleeves of our gown down the first few inches of your arms. His lips were on the back of your neck. A quick kiss. General Hux had one hand on your hip while the other left your body. You closed your eyes, listening as he undid the front of his pants.

The feeling of emptiness made itself known again. Your mind brought forth the memories of how he had felt inside of you. You thought, too, of the way he had been tender in some moments. If you fought him during sex—well, you imagined he would stop, though you hardly understood why a man as merciless as he was would do so. You preferred things this way, of course. Still…this was a side of the man you were still attempting to better understand.

“I should tell you ‘no’,” you whispered, listening to the way his breath hitched and feeling the way his hands stilled. “If you think to use sex as a weapon against me, I _will_.” He took a moment to consider your words. When next he again shift your dress, this time lifting the back and allowing a gloved hand to roam over your panties, you were aware that he understood. Sex would not be a weapon either of you used; it would, instead, be a meeting halfway as the two of you worked together from time to time. It was the tool to solidify the alliance between the First Order and your planet; a reminder of his vow to keep your father and planet safe.

The back of your dress was dropped, and Armitage used his hands to turn you around. Your gown slipped down the length of your body and pooled at your feet. You leaned against the door, lifting up a hand and tapping a lone finger against your lips as you glanced down at his cock. He hooked his thumbs into your panties, yanking them down. Swallowing thickly, you shyly reached and ghosted your fingers along the length of his erection. General Hux responded by kissing you, the man groaning against your lips and grabbing at your thigh, lifting it and hooking your leg around his waist. He batted away your hand, lined himself up at your entrance, and thrust inside of you.

No longer did you feel empty. You gasped. Lifting your other leg, you wrapped this around him as well, holding onto his shoulders as he pressed you more tightly against the door. The redhead snapped his hips forward, his eyes glued to yours.

“Perhaps I will convince you to be more than a temporary ally,” he whispered. Before you could respond, his tongue was in your mouth, his thumb rocking against your clit. You were at a loss for words, opting instead to moan and meet his thrusts.


	10. Punish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas to those who celebrate it. If not, I hope you have an awesome day all the same. Much love!
> 
> As a side note, I've been having issues with the formatting of chapters as I submit them. Trying to figure all that out. So sorry for any issues when it comes to that. I never had a problem before, yet in the last few weeks there have been issues.

Punish

 

His words somehow seemed to haunt you. _Perhaps I will convince you to be more than a temporary ally._ It could be a ploy to throw you off-guard; there would be situations in the future wherein he would be able to once more use you a pawn. Murder you—have you assassinated as he furthered his game of chess. Yet there was a nagging sensation, one that caused a sort of buzzing to make itself known at the nape of your neck, that told you he had been genuine. And why not? It only made sense that a man who craved power would stack his deck _with power_. That he recognized your abilities to match his moves was not lost on you at all.

 

You doubted that he viewed you as a wife to be loved. For him, you were either an enemy to be used or else a pawn in his game. Never the queen. In that respect, it was not far from how those of your planet had treated you. A means of keeping the peace for your people. You were to sacrifice your entire self, your future, for their sake. This had previously instilled in you a sense of pride. But now…

 

You pinched the bridge of your nose. General Hux was currently busy with First Order business, which meant that you had some free time to yourself. He expected you to use it wisely to familiarize yourself with some of the latest First Order propaganda. Your duty as his wife to make him _look good_ while at this event. If not for the fact that he was aiding in protecting your home planet, you would have been content in acting like a spoiled brat and ignoring these wishes. You clicked your tongue against your teeth, dropping your hand to where you were able to scroll to the next poster on the datapad. This one included your husband.

 

Ah, you were married to a poster boy. How quaint.

 

With a sigh, you moved on to the next piece, which turned out to be more than a mere poster. It was the equivalent of a pamphlet. The same old drivel about the New Republic. A number of the complaints _were_ justified and reasonable. After all, it was why your father had aligned with the First Order. The New Republic failed when it came to ridding numerous planets of issues such as pirates. Especially when those planets were further away from Hosnian Prime. Prior to aligning with the First Order, your father had sent a representative to plead with the senate for aid. It had all amounted to nothing.

 

It had been General Hux himself who had overseen the operation that had resulted in the death of the scum that had been terrorizing your planet. Your father had proposed to have you wed to the red-haired man as a means of sealing the alliance. This would ensure that future threats were dealt with accordingly as well. The First Order wanted some of the resources from your planet, and Hux… Well, Armitage Hux had readily told you why he had agreed to the arrangement.

 

Said man now walked into your quarters. He was trailed by another officer, who was holding a hanger with a garment bag draped over his other arm. The officer hung this up on a hook, and then waited only a second before he was dismissed by his superior. He left the room without another word.

 

“You may try it on at your earliest convenience.” The words were passive, the man hardly paying you any attention. Your husband was preoccupied with rummaging through a drawer. He pulled out a small cylinder. It was then that you noticed the snag in his uniform, and the missing chip. “Should there be a need for any alterations, you may send a message.”

 

“You speak to me as though I’m one of your subordinates,” you said through your teeth.

 

General Hux paused, the redhead having been turning to leave out the door through which he had just entered. He adjusted the sleeve of his greatcoat while considering you. With a sardonic smile, he stepped closer and placed a peck of a kiss on your cheek. “Wife.” You frowned, ultimately fighting away the scowl that threatened to make itself known. You _hated_ that he made fun of you. “I am a busy man at the moment. I do not have time for pleasantries. I am certain the dress will cheer you up.”

 

“Is it black like your soul?” you asked, quirking a brow and tilting your head.

 

“No. It is red like the blood that will spill from—“ He trailed off when he noticed that your eyes had gone to his hair. “I will see you later.”

 

You could feel your smile growing, more genuine than it had been in some time. As seriously as the man took himself, you were beginning to see beneath the armor. His insecurities as a bastard child were something that you had used to your advantage. Any offspring of Brendol Hux would be harsh; they would not have survived otherwise. And now that your husband was not busily trying to have you murdered, he appeared to be growing fond of you in his own way. That, or the saying was true that men thought with their dicks more than their other head.

 

You moved onto your feet and walked over to the garment bag. Pinching the zipper, you dragged it down. Your breath hitched. It was a rather exquisite dress that would flatter your form. This was not something that was carelessly chosen to match whatever outfit he planned to wear. It was _for you_. To properly accentuate _your_ features.

 

“The manipulative sleemo has some decent moves to play on this board,” you said, trailing your fingers along the material. It was expensive. Not that you were unfamiliar with such things. Suitors in the past had gifted you such things. Your father had as well. Those did not cheapen the gesture. What _did_ , however, was that you knew this was all for appearances sake.

 

You would be presented to those funding the First Order as the General’s loving wife who doted on him. They had to know, though. They would _know_ that you were nothing more than a body to him. All this pretending, it would amount to nothing. Squeezing your eyes closed, you attempted to will away all this negativity that was building. Your father was encouraging the façade. You could not disappoint him at least. It was not for Armitage Hux that you would wear this dress and pretend to love the redhead. It was for your father, for your planet.

 

As for your husband…

 

He joined you in bed when the cycle ended. The redhead was lying on his back, already asleep. You, meanwhile, were sitting cross-legged beside him, staring at him. There was a small light on in the room, nothing more than a glow that illuminated his face enough for you to make out his features. You squinted, leaning closer to continue inspecting him. You lifted one hand, the tip of your extended index finger threatening to poke the side of his face. It did not make contact. Instead, you moved it to the other side of his nose and uncurled your thumb away from your palm. You pinched his nostrils closed for but a second. Enough to startle him awake. His hand whipped to the collar of your shirt, bunching it up. He caught himself, however, before he did you any harm.

 

“I need shoes with the dress.”

 

“I am entirely certain that this conversation can wait until tomorrow.” Your grump of a husband turned his back to you, audibly huffing and tugging the covers over his shoulder. “Go to sleep,” he hissed, as though he could feel you continuing to watch him.

 

If he wanted to be mean, you could match him. Wasn’t that what he had said? You met him play for play, move for move.

 

Closing your eyes for the duration of a single breath, you stripped out of the nightclothes you had previously selected. You folded each piece neatly. The pile on the floor beside the bed was out of the way where you would not step on it, while also being near enough that you would be able to easily grab it. Once naked, you laid down on the bed and fiddled with the edges of the sheets. Your husband, as you had expected, turned over. He clasped the blanket, lifted it long enough to see if he had heard the rustling correctly, and released a hum.

 

“So—“

 

“I am entirely certain that this conversation can wait until tomorrow,” you intoned. “Go to sleep.”

 

“Speaking with the Supreme Leader is a rather trying process,” he said, and you felt yourself relaxing. You were open to listening to him explain himself. “Ren is problematic enough. Add to that more power, and an intolerance of listening—“

 

“Oh, look, you just described yourself.” His lips pinched closed. General Hux’s eyes roamed along your face. In your peripheral, you could see his expression. It was not hurt or anger. He was accepting your words for the truths they held. You turned over to face him, lying on your side and propping your head up in one hand. “There is a limited amount of time before the event, and I do need shoes. It’s not some wasteful pleasure trip. It is business related.”

 

General Hux grunted, your husband reaching beneath the blankets to find your other hand. He pulled this to his mouth, his lips caressing your knuckles as though he were apologizing. While he may have been wordlessly admitting that he had been too abrupt with you, you doubted this was a true apology. _That_ would be giving you too much power over him. More than you currently held; both you and he knew that the simple action of undressing had caused some of his defenses to fall away. The more you considered it, the more you realized that this was not purely lust-related. His words about the Supreme Leader ran through your head. He needed a stress relief. An outlet. Somewhere—someone with whom—he could lower some of those defenses without negative repercussions.

 

“We agreed to not use sex as a weapon,” you murmured. “That was not one-sided.”

 

He surprised you by not stripping, by instead slipping an arm underneath your body and tugging you to him. Your breasts were aligned with his face, and his mouth sealed over your nipple. You could feel his teeth grazing you. The sensation went straight south; you clenched around nothing and sighed. You placed your hands on his hair, petting at him.

 

“In the morning,” you said, shuddering and gasping. You arched your back. Your husband was more interested in touching you than fucking you at the moment. “I want to have options. The decision will be mine.”

 

“Of course,” he said huskily, breathily.

 

“And, anything concerning _my_ planet, will _not_ be kept from me.”

 

There was hesitation on his part. Armitage pulled back, no longer suckling at you but instead offering kisses to your flesh. He weighed the words. “Very well. Relatives of the pirate have been gathering forces. Those are being dealt with, although it seems the scum have relations with another planet. This one seemingly neutral when it comes to the New Republic and the First Order. The event will allow me speak with a senator who had previous contact with the leader of that planet. Ties will be severed—once they see that our marriage is a _happy_ one, they will have no choice.”

 

You ran your fingers through his hair again, enjoying the feel of the strands between your digits. “This planet… It has an adequate arsenal?” He hummed his response this time, the vibrations a tingle on your nipple, which was again between his teeth. “They threatened my people. Siding with the scum, they were willing to allow it all to happen.” Another grunt to indicate he was listening. “If you were willing to use _me_ as a pawn…if _I_ was an acceptable loss to claim a planet that had irritated… What of my planet?”

 

Your husband cupped the side of your face. He altered his position and yours. Your legs were hooked on either side of his waist now, knees bent. He had to tilt back his head to look up at your face. You loved this position; it was strange, though, since you had not been power hungry in the past. You loved your planet. That was what mattered. The power Armitage Hux could offer you would protect your planet. An example needed to be made of any others who would _dare_ seek to aid in your planet’s enemies.

 

“Do you want the planet destroyed?” You shook your head. No; you would not punish the planet’s civilians. They were not an acceptable loss; and, with that, you considered that perhaps your husband had been correct in calling you soft. “Take out the current ruling body?” You lowered your hand between your body and his, toying with the top of his pants. You pushed them aside, reaching into his boxers and stroking him. “As you wish.”

 

With a fully formed smile, you, feeling rather awkward, glanced towards the wall. You had _heard_ of the act before. And, stars, your husband had performed it on you. He was plenty capable of reading your intentions. With soft whispers, he promised you he would teach you. His hands on your shoulders, Armitage urged you down lower. You shyly licked at the head of his cock. The redhead gasped. He spread his legs so that you were able to find a more comfortable position. You sealed your lips around him then pulled back with a _pop_.

 

“Kriff, that’s good,” he groaned when you repeated the act. You then trailed your tongue down his entire shaft. It was strange for you. In a rather interesting way though. Your curiosity spurred you on. You wrapped a hand around him, stroking what portion was not in your mouth. All the while General Hux encouraged you with his words, gently telling you how to hollow you cheeks. You would have been insulted that he knew so much if you did not appreciate that it made you more comfortable when following his directions.

 

Your husband did not force you; his hand was on the back of your head, petting your hair similar to how you had pet his. For someone so merciless, he was proving to be fair. Several times he started to rock his hips forward. Realizing what he was doing, he slowed his movements so that he did not press you more than you were ready for.

 

“Mmm…Are you comfortable with me cumming in your mouth?” he asked between groans. You did not know how to reply—and not just because your mouth was full. If you did let him cum in your mouth, what if you did not swallow? “Hmph.”

 

Impatient as ever, General Hux did not wait any longer for a response. He pushed at you, your mouth leaving his cock. Saliva trailed between your lips and him. You winced when he tugged you again, pulling so that your face was aligned with his. You opened your mouth to object. Feeling his cum hitting your stomach, however, silenced you. Yes, that was better than it streaking down your face. With a smirk, your husband leaned up and kissed you.

 

“It is so difficult for you to trust me, isn’t it?”

 

“That would be _your_ fault,” you reminded him. “I think plenty of progress has been made. Show me that I _can_ trust you. Keep my planet safe, and punish those who would destroy it.”

 

“You will be my ally yet,” Armitage said, his grin a tad too confident for your liking. But you weren’t going to nitpick when it came to the poster boy.


	11. Envy

Envy

 

Your husband readily complied with your wishes in regards to ensuring that you had several pieces of footwear to choose from. You toyed with the idea of three of them being used. Upon wearing one pair, however, you quickly decided against it due to already feeling the blisters that would form. You were torn between the other two. They were each comfortable while also proving to accentuate the dress that had been selected for you. You chose to keep both of them, telling yourself that you would take into consideration the opinion of General Hux when he saw them. You doubted he would care. As the other shoes were taken away, you paused in thought, picturing the look of boredom that would be sketched upon his features.

 

Of course, your husband being the workaholic he was, you found yourself flinching when a chrome armored stormtrooper entered your shared quarters in his stead. You recognized Captain Phasma, and knew that General Hux had given her permission to enter. She would not do anything to compromise her position; though considered something of an equal, she technically was of lower rank to the man you had married. She would not betray him…unless her survival depended on doing so. In that respect, the two of you were rather similar.

 

Relaxing, you accepted the box she had been holding. Chocolates. Either sex improved his mood, he was attempting to bribe you into not chastising him for neglecting you, or else he believed in the aphrodisiac qualities of the sweets. Whatever the case, you were content to eat them.

 

Phasma did not exit the quarters after handing you the box. She tilted her head to the side, inspecting you as she likely did with her troops. It was hardly difficult for you to ignore her scrutiny. It was what you had faced your entire life as princess. Besides, you reasoned, she would keep you safe. It was one of the reasons you were kept aboard the _Finalizer_. Not simply to occupy your husband’s bed. Now that the First Order was not aiming to have you killed to further its goals, you would be kept alive for the same purposes. Royalty. Few planets maintained a sovereign in a similar manner to how yours did. Plus… Armitage did love his titles, the power that came with them.

 

Though he was still referred to as General Armitage Hux, he was also Prince Armitage Hux. When your father passed away, King Armitage Hux. It likely fueled his ego. After all, this was a man who clearly lusted after the title of Emperor.

 

This woman, too, enjoyed power in her own way. You recognized in her a greater zeal. While Kylo Ren would likely have murdered you himself if that had ever been his design, this woman would easily dispose of you if it meant furthering her position. You could not help but wonder if General Hux and Phasma had had a discussion wherein _she_ would have been the one to murder you on that planet while framing the locals. Goosebumps enveloped your arms, and a cold sweat threatened to break out.

 

“If you continue to fight him, you will have proven you are a fool.” Her tone was as cold as her armor. You gazed upon your reflection in its surface, despising how wide your eyes were. Normally you were able to conceal your fear.

 

It was not only this woman who was causing you discomfort. It was the knowledge that your husband was genuinely pressing for you to completely ally yourself with him. He would not have sent this woman to you otherwise. Her presence was both a threat and a promise. A threat; that if you rejected him, you had plenty of eyes on you. Eyes belonging to those who would gladly rid the galaxy of you if you threatened their plans. A promise; that those same people, should they become your allies, would further the power you held.

 

You wondered if Phasma and your husband had ever fucked, and despised the hot flash of jealousy that filled your body.

 

It was obvious that you were not his first, not with how he had known what he wanted—known how to get your body to react so easily. You thought of the crude things he said to you, the words that made you feel both aroused and ashamed, and some of the jealousy faded away. You were not the only one he viewed as being a body, you thought.

 

You managed to regain your composure, however were fully aware that Captain Phasma had observed the cracks in your armor. You held in the urge to pout in frustration. Instead, you lifted the lid from the box of chocolates. “I have not been fighting him recently.”

 

“You believe he is submitting to you—your arrogance won’t get you far.” You clenched your teeth. Captain Phasma took a step closer, her voice distorted by the armor she wore. It made her sound heartless, soulless. Perhaps she was just that. “The First Order will _not_ be compromised for the sake of your planet. It hardly holds any importance in the grand scheme of things, princess. It is temporary. For now, it has its uses. See to it that you don’t once more become expendable.”

 

This time, you held your tongue. Your narrowed eyes did not leave the woman; she exited the quarters you shared with your husband, the door sliding shut and obscuring her from your view. It was only then that you realized you were trembling. In fear, true; but mostly with growing rage. You tossed the open box of chocolates down to the ground. The sweets tumbled onto the floor. It was a waste, though the same could be said for the gesture of giving you the chocolates when it was delivered along with a threat. Your planet was everything to you. It was why you had married General Hux to begin with.

 

You did not see hide nor hair of the man until he arrived to change for the social event. Armitage grunted when you mentioned the two different pairs of shoes, ultimately providing no help in selecting which would be best for the night. You had already showered, done your hair and make up, and pulled on the dress. You now grabbed one of the pairs of shoes at random, slipped your feet into them, and followed your husband out of his quarters. He looked nice. His hair done similarly to how he generally adjusted it, although this time with a tad less gel. His dress uniform made him look the part of royalty. This greatcoat was fancier than the one you had seen him don in the past; save for your wedding day. As your eyes ran along his body a second time, you noted that it was the _exact_ same outfit he had worn on your wedding day.

 

As though marrying you was nothing more than a quick social event. Something to further the First Order agenda.

 

 _That’s exactly what it was_ , you thought with a scowl whilst joining him in the lift.

 

“The trip should take roughly thirty minutes. The shuttle will be using several jumps to prevent tracking from the Resistance. All necessary precautions.” He was yet again speaking to you as though you were one of his subordinates. It caused Captain Phasma’s words to run through your head. All her threats. “Perhaps you should use the trip to remember that this event is for the safety of your planet.”

 

“Of course,” you murmured, crossing your arms over your chest and leaning away from him.

 

“I take it Phasma spoke to you.” Your eyes flicked to him. Armitage reached a hand in your direction, setting his thumb and a bent finger against your chin. He pulled so that you were facing him. “You can have power under me, dear wife. Not over me.”

 

You jerked away from his touch. General Hux did nothing to stop you. The lift had come to a halt, and the two of you exited it together. The pilot and co-pilot were already in the shuttle that would be taking you to the event, along with two technicians, one officer, and… You felt your breath hitch at the sight of that chrome armor. To keep you moving forward, your husband placed a hand on your lower back. You did not know why she had to be present, especially with the fact that she had stated her feelings quite clearly when it came to your planet. She had no love for it.

 

You took the seat beside your husband, your arms again crossed over your chest as he wrapped one of his around you. Captain Phasma was across from him. The two began talking, and you did what you could to tune it all out. You could only pretend for so long; that energy and time had to be saved for when you were in the eye of the public.

 

His hand trailed from your upper arm down to your hand, which he caressed with the very tips of his fingers. You pinched your lips to keep any sort of expression from forming. The truth was, you despised Captain Phasma not only because she had threatened you and viewed your planet as inconsequential; you hated her because of the jealousy she had instilled in you. The thought that your husband may have once fucked her. Or, even if he had not, he clearly valued her opinion. He viewed _her_ as more of an equal than he viewed _you_. It was childish to be so envious, you told yourself. The marriage had been for political gain. It was nothing that should have caused you surprise, the way he treated you in comparison with how he treated the chrome-armored woman.

 

Your feelings of jealousy spiked when the fingers abandoned your hand in favor of making a gesture as he spoke with her. You twisted in your seat, grabbing either side of his face and forcing him to turn towards you. Your husband began to protest, however you silenced him by slamming your mouth atop his. Your eyes were locked together, neither of you daring to look away. It was a power play; not against one another, no. General Hux smirked into the kiss. Maker, you hated that he knew you were jealous. This man had attempted to have you killed…and yet you wanted his attention all for yourself now.

 

You set your hand on the front of his pants. His pupils dilated, his hand suddenly on your thigh as you rubbed his cock through the material of his clothes. Stars, you wanted power over Captain Phasma. You wanted her to be nothing at all to your husband. He had promised you that he would protect your planet— _his_ planet. You would let him fuck you in front of her if it meant wiping the smug grin you knew had been on her face when she had been threatening you.

 

The planet was yours, and you would protect it from even her.

 

General Hux was _yours_ , too, and you would not let her have him at all.

 

Your husband broke off the kiss, nibbling along your jawline as you continued to stroke him. There were people watching, yet that did not matter to you. People always watched you. You were royalty. To many, a mere pawn.

 

Kylo Ren’s words ran through your head for the umpteenth time. If you played your cards correctly…

 

The longer you were married to the man, the more you understood Armitage Hux’s craving for more power.

 

You moved ever closer to him, your hot breath washing over his ear as you whispered:

 

“I love it when my husband’s cock is inside me.”

 

Armitage Hux shuddered, his cock twitching in his pants. Regardless of what he had said to you, you knew better. You did have power over him. You ran your tongue along the shell of his ear, relishing in that power. He was yours. Captain Phasma would not have him. His loyalty was to _you_. To _your_ planet.

 

“Maker, Armitage, you should feel how ready I am for you,” you whispered, your voice nearly a whine. You did not care how desperate your sounded. You only cared that he could not take his eyes or hands off of you. He readily ignored everyone else aboard the transport shuttle. You had his attention. Not that chrome-armored bitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Phasma, I do! But damn if Armitage isn't corrupting his wife.


	12. Power

Power

 

“Our planet means nothing to her,” you whispered into your husband’s ear; you had again dropped your voice low enough that you doubted Captain Phasma could make out everything you said. General Hux swallowed thickly, his hands on your waist then moving to your rear. You straddled him in full, pressing against him and rocking into him. You had your hands on his shoulder. Lifting one to his hair, you were careful to not give him too much of a disheveled appearance; that would not do for the event. “Your title means nothing to her either. You know this. Just as I know that you are aware what the title of prince—and _king_ —can do for you. A proper stepping stone. Like General to Grand Marshall. King to Emperor. She cares nothing for this, because it does not benefit her. For you…”

 

You sealed your lips around the top of his ear, your tongue waggling along the flesh that was inside your mouth. Your redheaded husband trembled underneath you, his hands tugging you more tightly against himself as he bucked his hips forward. Your body was responding to his as much as he was responding to your words. You could feel yourself growing wet, and he must have felt it was well—for he released your ass with one hand, which dove under your dress and worked open the front of his pants. You grinned, closing your eyes and relishing in this feeling of power. As your panties were pulled to the side, you gave a small hum and aided him in positioning your bodies so that his cock was aligned with your entrance. Though all aboard the transport shuttle were aware of what you were doing with your husband, they could not properly see his cock nor your cunt. Your dress preserved this small trace of your dignity.

 

Though, in a way, this entire act gave the pair of you power together. The officers, technicians, pilots—even Captain Phasma—turned their heads You could hear Phasma’s armor shift, indicating she was clenching a hand, perhaps both, into a fist. Your grin widened into something almost feral. Your husband titled his head back, his expression mirroring yours as you started to raise then lower yourself, riding his cock. He clearly wanted you as an ally; he had said as much several times, and the fact that he had seen fit to have Phasma express these desires spoke volumes. She, of course, had underestimated you and the love you had for your planet. Many people did though—underestimate you. Your husband had when he had attempted to have you killed.

 

“You losing power means less to her than it does to me,” you purred in his ear. It was the truth. You needed this man to have power in order to protect your planet. Captain Phasma? You did not doubt that she was willing to serve whoever gave her the better position. A replacement for Armitage Hux? She would pledge her allegiance without a second thought.

 

You cupped the sides of your husband’s face whilst resting your forehead against his. The movements of your hips were slow, deliberate. You were prolonging the pleasure, the contact, the discomfort felt by the chrome-armored woman. Oh, you could feel her bristling behind you. You knew that she was your enemy in many senses now. Not that she hadn’t been in the past. Willing to sacrifice your planet, kill you off. General Hux? He had never considered your planet to be appropriate collateral damage.

 

You nuzzled him, your eyes on his lips as you again spoke: “I don’t care to have power over you… Power _with_ you is sufficient.” This—you straddling him, riding him in front of his men—was a show of the truth behind your word. He had every opportunity to shame you. To call you a needy whore, to expose your body to any who would dare look your way. Yet General Hux was a man who clearly recognized power when it was offered to him. Power over you, a means to sway your loyalty and place you at his side. If he truly hoped to eventually overthrow Supreme Leader Snoke, the redhead needed that power. Your power. You to have power. And so he kept you concealed, ensured that your body was for his viewing alone.

 

His hands gripped you tightly, stilling your movements. Another jump through hyperspace, this one the final. You kissed your husband, petting at the side of his face. The two of you stared at one another. There was a fire in his eyes, as though he would turn the tables on you if given the chance…while at the same time he enjoyed you in this position on top of him. The transport shuttle landed in the docking bay. Even still, as the engine was cut, neither of you moved. The pilots, officers and technicians took off their seat restraints, each of them exiting the transport shuttle rather quickly. Captain Phasma remained in her seat for a few seconds longer then also rose, the chrome-armored woman nearly stomping down the ramp, which then rose.

 

“Power _with_ me,” Armitage repeated. He cupped your breasts, kneading them while considering the proposal. “While we may not see eye to eye on all things, Captain Phasma is an asset to the First Order.”

 

You blinked slowly at him, waiting for the _but_ that would indicate his wishes to please you. One second ticked by, followed by another four. Eight. Your upper lip curled in disgust, and you placed your hands on his chest to push off of him. General Hux squared his jaw, his eyes narrowing as you stood and began to smooth out your dress. You reached past the material long enough to fix your panties. The redhead continued to sit there with his fly open, his cock out. His face was reddening in embarrassment, frustration, and anger. Anger that was directed at _you_.

 

“I believe we agreed to refrain from using sex as a weapon,” he hissed out.

 

You clucked your tongue against the roof of your mouth, bobbing your head from side to side as you considered what was being said, thought of the accusation and any possible truth it could hold.

 

“You were content when it was being used against Phasma.”

 

“Which should have made it clear that I did agree to choose you over her. Not enough to betray her entirely. As I stated, she is an asset to the First Order.” You stepped closer to the panel that would cause the ramp to lower if you decided to press it. “You insufferable brat.”

 

You directed your eyes his way then turned your entire body. The red shade on his face had darkened, the man fumbling with his cock, attempting to tuck it away. You crossed your arms behind your back and took a step towards him. General Hux’s gaze jerked upwards. He glared at you. You imagined that he was nearly ready to order a hit on you again. The man looked utterly embarrassed. Shamed. Indignant. The man whom you had believed needed to learn humility seemed to not be a stranger to your behavior towards him. You thought of his father, Brendol Hux. The fact that Armitage was a bastard child stabbed at you.

 

“Captain Phasma informed me that my planet is temporary. It has its uses for _now_.”

 

You crossed your arms over your chest, tilting back your head and staring down your nose at him. General Hux ran a hand over his jaw, the other limb shielding his flagging erection from your view. You pressed your tongue against the inside of your cheek. The heels of your shoes clicked on the ground with each small step you took in his direction. Your husband started to snarl, looking for all the galaxies like a wounded and cornered animal.

 

“Armitage,” you said. Your tone was soothing, gentle. Not like one would use with a child, no. That would have added insult to injury. You pinched the sides of your dress, making it rise inch by inch until you could reach under the material and hook your thumbs into your panties. You pushed them down your thighs, the cloth of your gown dropping just as the underwear fell to the ground. “There are those who have no qualms with betraying family and friends. I have my entire planet to worry about. You… You would have me killed for the First Order. But Phasma? You keep her with you, no matter what threat she can be to me…to you…to the First Order. To _our_ planet.”

 

“Power _with_ me entails you trusting my judgment.” You twisted, now standing perpendicular to him. General Hux swore, tearing at his glove and shoving it onto the seat beside himself. He wrapped his bare hand around his cock, refusing to look in your direction as he began to pump himself. “What you want _is_ power over me. You act as though you’ve been playing the same game I have. Phasma was correct…such _arrogance_.”

 

You tilted your head to the side, walked to the seat that you had originally occupied at the beginning of the journey, and lowered yourself into the chair. You sat atop his glove. Bracing an elbow on the headrest, you cupped your cheek. With your other hand, you reached for him. Your husband caught your wrist, squeezing it. You curled your fingers and lowered your eyes towards the ground. With a huff, the redhead relinquished his hold, allowing you to touch him. You ran your knuckles along him. Armitage refused to look at you, opting to instead stare at the door to the transport shuttle while his body responded to your touch.

 

He raised his chin, the back of his head hitting lightly against the wall of shuttle. You hated how he would not look at you. You had felt little to no shame when he had been inside of you when others were around. Now, however, you felt almost… No, you _did_ feel dirty.

 

“Tell me to stop, and I will,” you said weakly. There was a thickness in your throat. He had stopped whenever you had asked him to, and you would do the same for him. Somehow, when that should have felt fair, instead you were thinking that there was an imbalance of power.

 

“Would you abuse the power over me if I gave it to you?” he asked. The question caught you off-guard. Your hand stilled. Your husband had kept his voice level, tense even. He was guarding something—his pride, you thought.

 

“I’m not _that_ much like you,” you replied after another moment’s hesitation. You would not hold back the truth, even if it did stand the chance of angering him.

 

General Hux at long last looked your way. In fact, he met your gaze dead-on. “Should that be a lie, dear wife, I will not show you any mercy.” That promise had you hesitating. You shyly pressed forward, kissing him. Your husband responded, following your lead. This fact nestled itself at the forefront of your brain. Armitage was offering you power _over_ him.

 

You wasted no time, whipping off the seat restraint, grabbing at the front of his greatcoat and shoving him onto his back. He grunted at the impact. You could feel him tensing; he despised relinquishing power. When around Kylo Ren or Snoke… But, you would not be like them, you told yourself. You climbed atop his lap, reaching down and holding him as you lowered yourself onto his cock. You sank down, inch by inch. Armitage began to reach for you, and you shook your head. His hands trembled as he forced himself to place them at his sides.

 

“I _do_ love it when my husband’s cock is inside of me,” you whispered, moaning loudly and drawing a groan of pleasure from him. “You feel so good.” You laughed a little, stretching your body so that you could kiss him. You placed one hand near his throat. Armitage tensed underneath you. “I’m not going to choke you.”

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Shh, shh.” You toyed with the collar of his shirt. “Hmm… It would reflect poorly if we are not only late, but you’re covered in hickeys.”

 

“Kriff,” the man under you murmured. You pushed aside the material, nibbling and suckling, marking him as yours. He started to reach for you again, and you pulled back with a _tut-tut-tut_. The redhead balled his hands into fists. He shoved them underneath himself now. You rewarded him with a flash of a smile, and then you resumed marking him while rolling your hips into his. When he responded, meeting your thrusts, you did not scold him.

 

You moaned again when you felt him cumming inside of you, the sensation of being so full dragging out your orgasm as well. He was panting, meanwhile you recovered sooner. You pinched either side of his jaw, tugging at him so that he looked at you. Armitage blinked at you several times.

 

“If _you_ even _think_ about double-crossing me, Armitage, I will not show you any mercy.”

 

You stood, walking to where you had left your panties and pulling them on again. There was movement behind you, the sounds of your husband fixing his clothes. You readjusted your hair, patting at it and then smoothing out your dress to rid it of any creases. General Hux drew up to you, the man standing at your side. You looked his way.

 

“I have no interest in publicly shaming or humiliating you,” you said. His eyes searched for a lie that was not present. It caused you pause, alerted you to how both Snoke and Ren likely treated him. With a sigh, you lifted a hand, caressing his face. “It does not benefit me. It will not benefit either of us, either, if you move to humiliate me.”

 

“I will not choose Phasma over you,” the man replied. “While I can understand your hesitancy to trust me given our history, it is best that you do.”

 

“It is difficult to trust you when you hide so much.”

 

“Dear wife, there is a blade up my sleeve.” Your eyes darted from the right to the left sleeve of his greatcoat. “Perhaps both.” You placed your hands on his wrists, tracing upwards, letting your hands roam until you felt the blades. Armitage grinned at you. “I will kneel on command in private. There is a chance I may even lick your shoe if you’re so inclined to demand it. But, this means that you take _my_ lead in public. Leave Phasma to me—in private, you may voice your distaste for her as well. Should she threaten you, you will tell me.”

 

“Both of those blades better cut _her_ throat while neither touch me.”

 

General Hux took you by surprise when he dropped to one knee, lifting your left hand to his mouth and kissing it.

 

“What is an emperor without his empress?”


	13. Eyes

Eyes

 

Having grown up as royalty, events and parties such as what was currently being held were far from being a novelty. In comparison of many, in fact, the crowd and the food was subpar. You lifted a flute of wine towards your mouth, pausing to inhale its scent. You knew better than to act like a spoiled brat by rejecting what was offered to you. This was about appearances. You stood beside your husband, obliging his order to follow his lead while in public. You were growing fond of him in some ways; the power to save your planet was exactly what this marriage was supposed to entail. So long as he upheld his part, you would not betray him. Captain Phasma was hovering nearby, although she did much to ignore your presence, save when people were fully paying attention. You, pettily, could not help but wonder how much of her pride she had to swallow in order to do so.

 

Those who approached you and your husband offered you a small greeting, which you returned, and then devoted their entire attention to the man at your side. This gave you time to scan the faces of those present. You also entertained yourself by seeing which dresses worn were ones you would have enjoyed. There were a handful of the guests that you recognized from events your planet had held. You bit the insides of your cheeks, rather frustrated with the fact that they were currently speaking with known enemies of yours. You angled your body away so as to not allow them to see your momentary expression of disappointment.

 

A server droid rolled by, and you placed your emptied glass on the tray. Your husband had yet to drink any of the wine. He had accepted a glass of water to wet his mouth partway into discussing some trivial matter with one politician. Or had it been an arms dealer? Whatever the case, you had stopped listening upon realizing that it had nothing to do with your planet. The false pleasantries had never been anything you were particularly fond of, though you were able to act similarly when the situation called for it.

 

As you moved to turn back to General Hux, a familiar face caught your eye. You paused, staring at the man upon realizing that he was watching you. He was not quite royalty; on his planet, there was no king, nor a queen. Still, he came from a family that was involved in the ruling government body. At one point, he had hinted to your father that trading ties could be made if an appropriate union was to be had. He had, of course, been vaguely offering a proposal. He was one of the reasons you had never been able to argue against your husband’s words when he spoke of those who would marry you for political gain just as he had.

 

If only you could remember a name…

 

The thing was, you had not been of age when he had spoken those words to your father, which had prevented you from taking more than a basic interest in the matter. There had been no betrothal. Why should you care about a man who visited only on occasion? The last time you had seen him, it had been eight months before your marriage to General Hux, and even then you had only permitted time for the most basic of conversations. The man began to walk in your direction, a smirk planted on his face.

 

“Well, well, you’ve stepped down from the throne, I see,” he said, his eyes flicking to your husband. You frowned, not bothering any false warmth. The meaning behind his words had been clear to you; you had _married down_ in this man’s eyes. Not that his opinion mattered—although, given the way your husband tensed, you would say it had struck a nerve.

 

You lifted your chin. “Not at all.” The man’s smirk did not falter in the least. His eyes swept along your body. He did not even attempt to hide the way he appraised your form. “Such a tactless man. No wonder my father never believed your proposal held any merit.” Jaws dropped, and not only his. You hooked your arm into your husband’s while resting your head on his shoulder. General Hux had relaxed a minute amount after you spoke.

 

“You insolent—“ When Captain Phasma stepped forward to meet the man’s movement towards you, you knew that it was for General Hux’s benefit and not yours. That hardly mattered in your opinion. It caused the man pause. She did have her uses, you thought.

 

General Hux gathered his bearings, at last verbally addressing the situation. “Perhaps you should introduce us, dear wife.”

 

“Oh, I can’t remember his name. Not his first name at least. His family name is Mikthyre.” The man’s face had taken on a deeper shade of red at your words. Those who could hear alternated between chuckling, remaining silent, and whispering to one another. “He is a…nephew to the more well-known Mikthyre.”

 

“Indeed,” Armitage said with a trickle of amusement slipping into his tone. Even Captain Phasma had looked your way when you had spoken, as though her opinion of you had been swayed, even if only by a little. “Careful, Mikthyre, that I should not find you looking at my wife _that way_ again.”

 

Those present knew exactly the sort of power that backed General Hux’s words. The First Order would not allow some over-privileged man—or woman—make a fool of it or one of its generals. Especially not the one general who had most contact with Supreme Leader Snoke. The Mikthyre man’s eyes darted from you to your husband, going back and forth as he clenched and unclenched his hands. He did not want to admit defeat, and yet failing to do so would prove to be detrimental to his life. He excused himself with an air of haughtiness that you were rather impressed he was able to muster. You could not say that you did not appreciate the light this put General Hux and you in; it made the two of you seem as though you truly did care deeply about one another, more than what had started to grow between the two of you. That was what was needed in order for your husband’s plans to work.

 

You could not help but wonder if this was how General Hux viewed most of those at the event; pawns for his game as he sought to rise to the position of emperor. You wondered, too, what sort of things _he_ had to endure. Snoke and Kylo Ren generally ignored you. In the case of the latter, you had grown to appreciate his presence on the few occasions he had offered it. He was interesting to you. He was also the one who had encouraged you to play along, which thus far had had benefits. That did not mean he was pleasant company for your husband. Although, the more you thought about it, the more you wondered why it was the two men hardly got along. Their different strengths would have played well together if only they could set aside their differences. They would hardly need… Oh. That made perfect sense. It was similar to your wanting Phasma to be at odds with General Hux. Snoke did not want the two men to join forces against him. Perhaps the pair were aware of this, and yet what could they do to change things? That was not something you were interested in just yet; first, to secure your planet’s safety.

 

“Why don’t we get some fresh air,” Armitage said after another couple broke away from the conversation that had been being held. You nodded your agreement, your arm still hooked in his. The redhead began to walk and you met his pace so that the contact remained unbroken. “I had believed you would be more interested in socializing, given that you’ve been cooped up inside our quarters.”

 

“It isn’t true socializing. Hardly anything genuine. I find it easier to speak with Ren than the people in there.” This was not a lie. Kylo Ren, even if he was guarded against things sentimental, offered insight, useful suggestions. The two of you were not friends, this was true. Yet you could not help but notice that the Force user was vaguely interested in you given that you had survived the ordeal through which your husband had put you. General Hux snorted. He did not contradict your words in any way, nor comment on his distaste for the man. _You_ disliked Phasma, and _he_ disliked Ren. On that, it was a rather even playing field. You decided to set aside some of your pettiness when it came to the other woman. You would not make a hypocrite of yourself. “It’s nice out here.”

 

Your husband turned his head to consider you. The garden was quite small given its location, and yet you found yourself enamored with its absence of a crowd. You had already spent the better part of three hours amongst the guests. A break wherein you could relax and not fake cordiality was warmly welcomed. General Hux did not remove his gaze from you. You felt a little self-conscious with the way he was observing you, as though he was appreciating what he was taking in. Not in a lecherous sort of way either. You were not sure if you would call his stare _tender_ , however there was a softness to it. Another layer of the animosity that had existed between the two of you was being wiped away.

 

“You know,” you began, the urge to erase the silence too great for you to handle, “you told me that you did not love me.” His eyes dropped a little. You could not tell if this was due to shame or thought. “Inadequate. I’m not holding that against you. We don’t know one another well enough to…love. I appreciate the steps you have taken though.” Those blue orbs met yours. “I meant it, when I said I had not taken a step down by marrying you. A political marriage—I can appreciate that.” While speaking, you lifted a hand and stroked the side of his face. His throat visibly bobbed as he swallowed. You doubted he was a stranger to intimacy of this nature, however had the impression that it was not often he experienced it. “I believe I can forgive you for attempting to have me killed. It offered a valuable lesson, even if I would have rather learned it a different way.”

 

You could see the twitch of his fingers before he mimicked your gesture. His knuckles brushed along your cheek. You held your breath, your hand trembling against him. “I have plenty more to teach you yet,” he said. When he took a step closer to you, you retreated back. This did not dissuade him from pursuing you. Your husband continued forward until you were against a wall and he had his hands on either side of you. Your chest rose and fell heavily. The memory of him calling you _empress_ played in your head as his mouth claimed yours. It was a hungry kiss, his tongue working yours into submission.

 

 _Stars_ , you thought as you moaned. You wanted to dominate him the same way he was doing so to you. He had indeed been humoring you on the shuttle. This man was far more experienced than you. The idea that you would learn, and that he would allow you to take the lead when in a more private setting, caused a chill of delight to run through you. You shuddered into the kiss, hands on his chest and clasping the material of his shirt.

 

Armitage shifted, his mouth leaving yours. You panted, trembling and gasping as he nibbled his way to your ear. “One lesson, which should already be familiar to you: there are _always_ eyes watching.” He whispered this, and you knew that the Mikthyre man was whom he was referring to. You moaned out your husband’s name next, which had him dropping his hands to your hips and tugging your body against his.

 

Just as you had put on a show in front of Captain Phasma, General Hux was ensuring the other man knew to whom you belonged. You knew that you would not be allowed to take the lead as you had before. That was just as well—the hand that had slipped under your dress and into your panties made your legs feel like gelatin. He thrust his finger into you, his tongue caressing the edge of your ear. You felt a light puff of air next, a steady stream of it that had you trembling all the more.

 

“This may be cruel, but I cannot allow you to cum,” he said quietly, ensuring that only you heard. You whimpered, tears gathering in your eyes as disappointment and arousal both ran through you. “He does not get the pleasure of seeing you come undone.” Armitage withdrew his fingers, placing them in his mouth as you blinked at him, legs still shaking and hands on his shirt. “You’re such a sight.” This time, his voice was tender, almost loving. You bit down on your bottom lip, attempting to regain control of yourself. “Now… Let’s finish securing the pawns needed to protect our planet.”

 

Strangely, that was better than an orgasm—to hear him say it that way. _Our planet_. It showed loyalty. It made your heart beat faster in your chest. Your knees at last buckled. General Hux did not allow you to fall, however. His arms caught both of yours, a satisfied smirk on his face. It was not demeaning in the least. It made you feel as though you truly were his empress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to balance plot and smut, and smut is winning a lot. But ah well~ They're in their honeymoon phase is all, haha.


	14. Side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter length is a guess based on the plot I have in mind.

Side

 

The lingering sensation of arousal as you rejoined the other guests reminded you of the fact that you and your husband had only recently begun to offer one another a semblance of trust. It had been a power play against Mikthyre. In the past, Armitage Hux may have kept you in this state for his own amusement. To watch you crumble. Yes, it was true that you were slowly learning that you could forgive him for his attempt at having you murdered. That did not mean that you would blindly enter this relationship, nor allow it to progress at a rate that wound up stripping you of everything. The pair of you passed by a table on which there were glasses filled with ice water. Your husband passed one of these to you, and you accepted the drink without protest. The coolness helped to ease the discomfort of the heat that remained from his previous ministrations.

 

Captain Phasma erased any distance that had been between herself and your husband. You bit back a frown at this. Armitage’s eyes were on her now, his attention torn away from you.

 

Your gaze briefly traveled to one of the concealed blades that was in his sleeve. Phasma was a true threat, although you were reluctantly agreeing to entrust her to Armitage. He would deal with her when it came to the good and the bad. What caused your nerves to be so on edge was that this relationship between the two of you, wherein you were beginning to trust one another, was so _new_. It would be quite a simple thing indeed to backslide back into being enemies. Attempting to abuse power over one another. You did not believe that he would try to kill you again. Not unless it was absolutely necessary. Your planet would be safe as well.

 

This train of thought reminded you why you were at this function. You began listening to the whispered words that were spilling from Phasma’s masked lips. She was filling in Armitage on the progress that had been made, the information that had been obtained, and the conversations that had been had while you were absent. There was growing panic in those who had aligned themselves with your enemies. They had assumed that there would be tension in the marriage. That General Hux had married you solely for the resources or to have a body.

 

You almost laughed aloud at the fact that their assumptions were all technically correct. They had simply miscalculated the chances that you and your husband would be able to move past those parts. This was to your benefit. It was always useful when your enemy underestimated you, namely when you had managed to make a powerful ally such as your husband was. More of the contempt that had been making itself known again in regards to Phasma began to wane. Even though she had admitted to believing your planet ultimately expendable, in the meantime she was serving her purpose in protecting it.

 

Your father and husband were correct when they told you that you had much to learn. General Hux would teach you plenty, and there were more things that you would study on your own. If you wanted to remain his equal, you would have to work for it.

 

Sipping more of the water, you allowed your attention to be drawn to the door through which you had used to reenter the main area. Mikthyre was lingering near its frame. His eyes were on you, namely on the lower half of your body. You mentally compared this stare to the one Armitage had given you multiple times in the beginnings of your marriage—after he had tried to have you killed, and before you had begun to work with him. As though you truly were just some body. Something to be fucked. You knew that you had worth beyond being a body. Yet it did cut you deeply, Mikthyre’s leering and the memories it stirred.

 

Then there was Captain Phasma, who commanded attention and respect by the way she held herself. You wondered if she would receive such a response without the armor. You did not believe that everyone was sexist, not at all. It was simply a fact that you had come to learn. The pissing contest. The social misconception that men were inherently superior. To you, gender did not matter.

  
On some level it did not matter to your husband either; he had already admitted to you that he viewed you as a more worthy opponent than he did your father.

 

You looked to him once more, discovering that his eyes had strayed from Captain Phasma and were on you. The hints of a frown that you could see indicated that he was not oblivious to Mikthyre. “Are you deciding how to address it?” you asked, recalling the thread he had given Mikthyre when it came to being caught staring at you as the man was. Armitage’s eyes narrowed in thought, his gaze darting between you and Mikthyre. “Or are you storing it away for another time?”

 

“I’m debating on that,” the redhead murmured. As he spoke, the man took a step closer to you, as though silently reminding Mikthyre to whom you belonged. “I could use this— _we_ can use this.” He was being vague in a way, however you did not need him to elaborate. You closed the remainder of distance between your body and his, your hip flush against his pants. “He’s making you uncomfortable.”

 

“You said you can use it,” you whispered, tucking your face against his body. You did not mind if anyone looked your way based on these actions. It was tender—it did display some of your vulnerabilities. It was something your husband enjoyed. He always had. The man held such love for power. It drilled in how important it had been, that he had relinquished control to you on the shuttle.

 

General Hux rested one hand on your side, using the other to grab the glass of water from you. It was only a third of the way filled now. Your eyes followed it. Captain Phasma stepped out of the way so that one of the droid servants was able to take the dish. Simultaneous to this, your husband caught the eye of the event’s host. They shared a nod. Subtle. Easily missed if one was not intent on observing either of the pair. Lines were being drawn in the room. Invisible and deadly.

 

You could not help but wonder if Mikthyre’s death was one you would read about. Would your husband even tell you when and where the other perished? It would look like an accident. Or would it?

 

“Would you like to mingle? I was under the impression you were feeling cooped up.” He sounded completely bored. The man was all business. He was also one prone to jealousy or possessiveness or a combination, you noted. His hand would not leave you, and his attention had been drawn once more to Mikthyre.

 

You knew what it was like to be Armitage’s enemy. If not for the feelings of ill will you had already started to harbor, you would have pitied the man who was still eye fucking you. “Not here, no.” This was all political. The event. The people gathered. You did not trust anyone here, and you wanted to leave.

 

Despite your response to Armitage’s inquiry, you found that you had to do otherwise. Because it _was_ political, those who wanted to gain favor with the First Order did whatever they could. That included to attempting to play nice with you. You were engaged by several women as well as a few men in conversation. It was far more mentally taxing than your previous rivalry with your husband had been. At least then you had known what your opponent was fully capable of. These were all strangers. Some of which may be your ally. Others who were plotting against your entire planet. Oh, how they would love to see you dead.

 

Captain Phasma was not forced to speak with most. Only those she wanted to have a conversation with. Another thing to be envious of.

 

Yet your husbands hand was on your side. It did not leave you, not once. Not for the first time, you began to wonder how deep your loyalties to him would become—and his for you as well.


	15. Scent

Scent

 

There was far less tension in the transport shuttle between Captain Phasma and you than there had been the previous time. Departing from the social function had brought the both of you a sense of peace. There was no more need to hold back any distaste you harbored for a portion of the other guests. Many had proven to simply bore Phasma in the same manner that they had failed to entertain your husband. As for you, you had continued to take things more personally. It was  _ your _ planet’s fate that was on the line. And though General Armitage Hux was beginning to harbor a power-based fondness for it, he had much larger aspirations that allowed him a sense of detachment you would never be able to afford. You wondered if that had anything to do with his military upbringing, or if it would have been part of his personality regardless.

 

Stifling a yawn, you started to recline further against the hard surface of your seat. Your husband was seated beside you, and already he was glancing through reports to ensure that all was running smoothly in his absence. His consistency in being controlling allowed you to feel less uneasy in terms of how he often dictated how life would go for the pair of you. That wasn’t to say that you would yield to him, but that instead there would be a learning curve. His promise to submit to you behind closed doors still threatened to take your breath away.

 

When it came to Captain Phasma, Armitage was more prone to either agreeing with her or arguing his point. You had not yet observed a moment wherein he admitted any sort of defeat. He would concede points, true, however he would quickly begin to explain how best to alter things to better fit  _ his _ view. The one place he gave her the majority of control was with the stormtroopers. To you that merely showed he valued efficiency and knew it would be to his detriment to demand any drastic differences. He did value Phasma’s input in that respect.

 

You would not mind at all if she had any commentary regarding Mikthyre’s fate. She would likely be able to do a fantastic job covering it up. Had she given pointers to General Hux when it had come to concealing the failed assassination attempt on you? You were able to easily picture this, the pair of them scheming over a cup of tea or caf.

 

“Did you get all the information you needed?” you asked tiredly, raising a hand to muffle another yawn. Though he directed his gaze onto you, Armitage did not respond immediately. His eyes ventured along your body, the man no doubt taking in how exhausted you appeared. You felt as though you hadn’t slept in ages, and it would not have surprised you if he had said as much. When he did speak, however, he made no comment on your appearances at all. He simply muttered out a clipped  _ yes _ , and resumed staring at you, this time tilting his head to view you at a new angle. Your eyelashes fluttered, albeit not because you were being flirtatious. It was difficult to keep your eyes open at all.

 

His lips crept upwards at the sides. You sighed at the level of amusement he was deriving from your current state. “We have all that we need,” your husband said, angling his body so that his mouth was closer to your ear. You hummed in response, also shifting in your seat. You rested your head against his upper arm. The man tensed. He did not seem to know how to react to this sort of intimacy. Armitage cleared his throat before continuing to speak. “There may be a necessity to visit your father in person. Negotiations. I haven’t decided whether or not it would be wise to bring you along.”

 

The words had not been spoken to provoke your ire, yet you could not help but feel angry. You grit your teeth together to keep from lashing out. This time, it  _ was _ about protecting you. Which, of course, meant that the situation at hand was more serious that you had begun to consider. And you  _ had _ considered it to be rather serious at that. You silently swore in your head, your lips moving to form the phrase.

 

Captain Phasma shifted in her seat, which caused your eyes to snap open. You straightened yourself upon noticing that she was looking directly at you. “Should you remain behind, Kylo Ren will see to it that you remain safe.” The courtesy of being told this ahead of time was to ensure that you were on your best behavior. The Master of the Knights of Ren would already be in a poor mood due to being given what was equatable to  _ babysitting duty _ . Not that either of you minded the other’s presence. He would be wanting to go where the action was.

 

“Do you believe it will come down to war?”

 

Armitage moved an arm behind you, the hand touching your hip and drawing you closer. He once more leaned down so that his mouth was beside your ear. “You worry a lot.” The softly spoken words would still be overheard by Captain Phasma. The fact that he had made a show of talking in a more hushed manner dissuaded the chrome-armored woman from interjecting. The volume rose when he continued by saying, “Kylo Ren will be ready to assist us should it come to that. Not that the First Order doesn’t possess enough ammunition to take care of this...issue.”

 

To them, this felt small in comparison with the larger war against the New Republic that they were waging. You did understand that to an extent. It did not eliminate any of the personal frustrations you harbored. A saving grace was that the First Order would not allow your planet to be mistreated. They would use this situation as an example. It would make others think twice before messing with the First Order. It was also on a small enough scale that the New Republic would remain oblivious to the First Order’s true arsenal. On top of that, they would quite possibly laud the endeavor as it meant saving lives.

 

Politics were interesting at times, despite their messiness.

 

“Do you plan to kill Mikthyre?”

 

“He certainly won’t live long,” Armitage drawled. He attempted to sound bored, but failed at masking the contempt he felt for the other man. “I have not decided on the specifics. He may prove useful for a handful of steps.” His thumb twitched against your side. “He will not have any further contact with you.”

 

This was a spark of possessive jealousy that you could approve of. You held nothing but contempt for Mikthyre. The way he had mentally violated you over and over each time he looked your way. Imaging you naked. You cringed at the thoughts this provoked. It had been the first time you were completely grateful to have been wed to General Hux.

 

You trailed your eyes to Captain Phasma, whose helmeted head was again pointed at you. As though  _ daring _ you to attempt to order her. You would not do so. “You will be with my husband on my planet then?”

 

“Indeed.” Ever-guarded. Another dare for you to press your luck.

 

You did press it. “Since my husband is technically next in line for the throne due to our marriage, were you given the blueprints that divulge all secret passageways.” This caught Phasma off-guard. A small noise escaped her before she managed to catch herself. The hint of surprise suggested that the information had  _ not _ been given. Armitage tensing again also told you as much. “If you have the standard blueprints, I can tell you the ones I have memorized. In case it is useful to your plans. I am not stupid. I know I won’t be told them.”

 

Captain Phasma gave a sharp nod. “Very good.” Just as guarded as before. This was not about winning her over in any way. You did value your husband’s safety. Kylo Ren’s words rang through your head; you liked to repeat them at times to remind yourself to not do anything stupid. Playing one’s cards correctly gave power just as much as what one was born into. Despite being royal, you had once been considered to be nothing more than a pawn by your husband. Now you were a more useful and valued piece.

 

It may be beneficial if you were left behind in Kylo Ren’s company.

 

The Force user was far from your thoughts when the transport shuttle docked in the  _ Finalizer _ . You were past ready for bed. Armitage did not object to you slipping your arm into his. He slowed his pace to keep from literally dragging you forward. You were stumbling half the time, stifling yawns and leaning your head against his arm. He refused to outright carry you. You remembered him saying something regarding appearances, and then you had started to tune him out. You were too tired to debate this with him.

 

Upon entering the quarters that you shared with your husband, you began to walk to the bed only for him to tug you towards the refresher. He lectured you on proper dental hygiene. You lazily brushed your tongue while he spoke, quirking an eyebrow at his reflection, which was glaring at you in the mirror. You broke eye contact to spit in the sink then resumed brushing your teeth. Armitage had picked up his toothbrush. The only sounds in the refresher were of the two of you brushing. Your argument was now based on facial expressions you could shoot one another in the mirror. You had perfected  _ the _ eye roll at an early age. Snobbish. Exasperated. Enough to cause your husband to choke on foamy toothpaste when he went to chastise you for it.

 

It was another marvelous victory, to be sure.

 

“I’ll meet you in bed,” you said, giving his cheek a quick peck as he recovered his breath. You exited the refresher, stripped out of the dress, and climbed underneath the covers. Forget putting on pajamas. You just wanted to sleep.

 

Armitage spooned with you after shutting off the lights. His hands roamed your body, feeling you without being firm enough to spark your arousal. You could easily get used to this sort of attention if your relationship with the man continued on the path it was taking. You would know more as to whether or not you could trust him enough for that as time went on.  “It’s good you didn’t die,” he whispered. You snorted, reached behind yourself, and patted his hip. That line was far less romantic or endearing than he had probably intended it to be. You gave him credit for trying. “You smell nice.”

 

“Oh, Maker, Armitage, I’m too tired for sex.”

 

“I’m not trying to have sex with you.”

 

You blinked open your eyes. Looking over your shoulder at him in the darkness, you could have sworn that you saw him nearly pouting. He  _ was _ trying to be nice. “Well...you smell nice too then.” He sighed in exasperation.

  
  



	16. Desire

Desire

 

Though they were not set to leave the _Finalizer_ for your planet until another three days, your husband and Phasma had become rather immersed in their plotting. This meant that you were not included, much to your dismay. Kylo Ren had attended the first two unofficial meetings, and apparently they had been underwhelming for him as he now sought your company. Not your company, actually, so much as your knowledge. The proposal had been a rather strange one. When he had asked if he could read your mind, you had responded with a rather sarcastic snort followed by an _I don’t know, can you?_ that had had him pause in his steps. It was then that you remembered you were communicating with a Force user. When you _did_ remember his abilities, you became rather hesitant. On one hand, allowing him to read your mind had the potential of supplying a better map to your husband. Things that you had difficulty explaining would possibly be quite simply for Ren to describe. On the other hand, it was rather intimate to allow one into your mind. Not to mention the fact that you wondered if this would make it easier for him to do so in the future.

 

The Master of the Knights of Ren had relented for at time. If he had truly wished to, he could have stolen your memories without much trouble at all. Captain Phasma and General Hux remained away even when the shift for the stormtroopers stationed at your private quarters changed over. It was due to this that you permitted Kylo Ren entrance. On your planet, and maybe even to others aboard this vessel, your actions would have been labeled inappropriate. Given that the stormtrooper guard shifted uncomfortably, as though he was at odds what to do since he was guarding _Hux’s_ quarters, you knew that your husband would be aware of this meeting before you received a chance to tell him yourself.

 

“Once the safety of your planet is ensured, you should be returned to your father’s side.”

 

“ _Should_ , Master Ren?”

 

“There are complications and other factors that deem such an act one that would take too many unnecessary risks. At least for the time being.” More information that would not be given to you. They kept you in the dark for many things. The First Order triumvirate _used_ you more than it worked _with_ you. “It is useful to have you at the ready. Any display of military power that would otherwise arouse suspicion from the New Republic can be attributed to your presence. This prevents the Supreme Leader from objecting to you being here.” He never once offered his own impressions of you. You were left to your own devices to learn those.

 

You knew that he did not dislike you. At the worst, he was indifferent, which you were beginning to think was not the case. Kylo Ren seemed rather curious about your role as princess. Royalty that was essentially a pawn; to some, this was contradictory. For Kylo, he pushed at you, prompting you to speak about _why_ you would not press to have power of your own. He was entirely unsatisfied with the _I wasn’t brought up that way_ that you offered. It was as though the man could not fathom why anyone wouldn’t have greater aspirations, _especially_ when they were born into power.

 

In a way, you had been more ambitious in your younger years. You had thought of what it would be like to rule rather than play the role of spouse or pawn. That was how you felt. Even now, married, you had to scramble to gain any sort of footing to protect your planet. Ultimately you were at your husband’s mercy when it came to that. This frustrated you more than you wanted to think about. So you did not think about it; you shoved it far from your mind and rooted yourself deeply in the denial you had lived with for the majority of your life. Pretending all was well with the position you had been forced into.

 

Kylo Ren, having grown bored with prodding you to no avail, returned to his desire to read your mind. You had heard of how painful such an interrogation could be, however he informed you that he would be gentle. He said that as long as you did not resist, it did not have to hurt.

 

“That doesn’t sound very promising to me,” you said, your facial features contorted as you shook your head. “Besides, they’ve been there before…”

 

“To the passageways you supplied them with?” he intoned. Your teeth were bared, your eyes rolling towards the ceiling and chest rising with a sharp inhalation. “You don’t like being wrong.” You wanted to shoot back with an accusatory _do you?_ but managed to hold your tongue. Kylo Ren was wearing down your defenses, batting aside your arguments, and he knew it. He knew that he could break you with logic, with the loyalty you had for your planet.

 

When he told you to lie down on the bed, you eyed him as though he had sprouted extra limbs. A sigh of exasperation had any arguments dying on your tongue. You decided to trust him, realizing that he was attempting to make you as comfortable as possible for something that could not be entirely pain free. Regardless of the rivalry that existed between Kylo Ren and your husband, both of them wanted the First Order to succeed. This currently meant that the safety of your planet was a priority. You laid back, setting your head on the pillow, and stared up at the ceiling.

 

“Mrs. Armitage Hux.” His snickering brought your attention to his mask. Kylo Ren cocked his head to the side and gestured to you. “You listened to my advice.” He seemed rather pleased with himself, and this was one moment you would allow him to be. “Did you?”

 

“That is…” That he was inquiring about your sex life threw you off your guard. “Uhm…”

 

“Mm. This may prove difficult.” You felt your eyebrows draw towards one another. “Do not throw up images of your sexual encounters to ease the pain. Think of…anything else.”

 

You snorted, breaking into uncontrollable laughter. You could not fault Kylo Ren for pressing for the information now. He did not want to see General Hux having sex. It was adorable, really. Understandable as well. You nodded to help keep him from growing too flustered or angry. The manner in which he angled his body and the heavy sigh that escaped through his vocoder informed you that he was not thrilled to be the cause of your amusement. You struggled to get yourself under control. When you succeeded, Kylo Ren extended an arm and placed his hand to the side of your head. He did not quite touch you. Still, you felt an uncomfortable pressure, as though something was worming its way deeper into your head.

 

You flinched. His hand twitched, and the pressure disappeared for a fraction of a minute until you were again relaxed. This time you managed to not wince, although you could feel your face scrunching up at your discomfort. He spoke to you, his voice calm, and asked you to guide him through the various passageways.

 

You thought of yourself as a child; this helped to pull you away from the uncomfortable sensations, and it also aided in bringing up better visuals of the passageways. The small details. You had enjoyed playing in them as a child. This was something your father had not entirely approved of, however he had liked that you were familiar with them. Some of the passages had false doors to trick intruders that happened to stumble upon the secrets.

 

A few led to and from the throne room. Others allowed one to get rather close to the personal quarters of your father. There was supposedly one that let out in your room, however you had never been able to find the entrances. Kylo Ren was curious about this, why you hadn’t been given the information.

 

“So that I wouldn’t sneak boys into my quarters, I guess?” He grunted, and the interrogation continued.

 

He was right though. The less you fought against him, the less pain there was. You were able to accept the discomfort even though you could tell that there would be a lingering headache when it was all over. You had jumped in surprise, the pain spiking high, when your husband entered your shared quarters. Armitage had nodded in Ren’s direction upon seeing what was occurring, however, and it allowed you to relax again. He was not pleased exactly. You could see the frown on his face. But he understood what valuable information was being obtained this way.

 

Kylo Ren became far less conversational with your husband present. Not that he had been exactly chatty beforehand. When he was finished, he withdrew, offered you a nod, and informed your husband that he would be running through the information with Captain Phasma.

 

When the Force user left, Armitage looked at you, his frown still present. “You’re rather comfortable with him.” The unspoken portion of the accusation stung.

 

“You know,” you shot out, feeling the urge to cry in anger and frustration building, “ _you’re_ the one who tried to have me killed. I should be the one completely struggling to trust you _at all_. But I’m trying to. You though? When have I _ever_ given you a reason to doubt me… To imply that I’d cheat on you?”

 

You had risen from the bed and jabbed an index finger into his chest. The man hardly flinched at the contact. He did look properly ashamed of himself. Armitage regained his composure rather quickly, though, and cupped the side of your face. You pulled away from his touch. His fingers curled towards his palm, his eyes lowering to the floor. You rubbed at the bridge of your nose, the headache from the interrogation growing in intensity at this altercation. The emotions you were keeping locked away did not help matters either.

 

“I’m not particularly fond of Ren.”

 

“That’s fine!” you hissed, shoulder checking him as you moved forward. The noise of discontentment that left him made you feel a little better, which was possibly awful. “I don’t have to feel the same way you do about Kylo Ren. We aren’t friends. We’re civil towards one another. It’s sort of a mutual understanding. Maybe some curiosity. He has power. I was born into power. We’re going two different routes. Kylo is allowed to use his power. Me? I have to practically _beg_ to be heard.” You had twisted around again to face him, and Armitage had also turned to face you. He flinched at your words, not arguing against them.

 

You did not know if he felt bad for you, or if he simply did not like the fact that you were unhappy with your position. This man loved control. He probably rather enjoyed hearing you beg.

 

“I don’t like Phasma. I hate the way you are with her. But you’ve basically told me to _suck it up_. Well, Armitage, _you_ suck it up!” He moved swiftly, though not to strike you. His mouth was on yours. You let him kiss you without returning the gesture. Armitage broke away then lowered himself to his knees. Yielding to you as he had on the transport shuttle. You sighed, your body slumping. He never liked verbally admitting defeat. This was the nearest to any sort of apology you would get, and you decided to accept it. “Even if you don’t trust Ren, you need to trust _me_.”

 

“Blind trust gets you killed.”

 

“Think about what you just said,” you said, your eyebrows rising. His cheeks took on a pink hue as blush stained them. “This isn’t blind trust, Armitage.” You shifted down onto your knees. This time you initiated the kiss. He was quick to return it, to cup your face and murmur that he would trust you. You rested your head against his shoulder, sighing at the pain you were experiencing from your headache. “If you want me to be your ally as you keep saying, just trust me.”

 

It was easy for your anger to relent as you realized how much of his behavior was not only out of jealousy, but fear that he would lose you. The man was beginning to genuinely care for you.

 

“I want to be more than some ally though.” Your husband had rather lovely eyes, a mixture of green and blue. They met yours as you tilted back your head and looked up at his face. “I want to be your _wife_. Not only by marriage. Not something on paperwork. I… I told you… If I had had my way, I would be with someone I loved.” The gentle rise and fall of his chest ceased. He was holding his breath at your words. You swallowed thickly, feeling suddenly nervous.


	17. Trial

Trial

 

Your husband repositioned his body after extricating himself from your hold. Your arms dropped lamely to your sides, and you refused to meet his eye. Not that you knew if he was staring at you. He could be looking away. Attempting to gather his thoughts or finding a way to reject you. He did want you as an ally, yet you were looking for more than that. You were asking him for some form of sentimentality. For him to drop down more of the barriers he had built around himself. It was a lot to ask a man like General Hux. A part of you had already been prepared for him to not give you an immediate answer, or else deflect. Not stop breathing though. Nor retreat from you on a physical level.

 

Armitage walked over to the chair he had a tendency to use and sat down. He had pinched the bridge of his nose; this you noticed upon at last looking at him. This was the man who had always been so adept at using his mind for schemes that involved multiple steps, much forethought. Apparently sentiment slowed down or else fully stopped the wheels that rotated in that brain of his.

 

There was a chance that that was a sign of doom for your desire to love and be loved. Or else it was an indication that the road would be anything but smooth. Not that you had expected an easy trek. You did want _something_ though. Even a derisive laugh would do. A silent Armitage Hux was not something you were very good at dealing with; or at least not when he was silent because of something you had said. It placed you back when the two of you had been dancing around the fact that he had been the one to order the hit on you. It was that you never knew how he would react or what he would say when he at last decided to respond.

 

“I have no idea what it is you’re asking of me,” Armitage admitted at long last. He dropped his hand away from his face and locked his eyes with yours. You felt a weight lift off of your shoulders simultaneous to a new burden dropping on them. This man was emotionally damaged, a fact that you had considered in passing but had never given _full_ thought to.

 

When you did not reply to him without delay, your husband shook his head, stood, and changed out of his clothes and into a comfortable robe. The two of you remained in the silence as he changed. From the fact that he had removed his uniform, you realized that he was taking a prolonged break. This meant that either he had an upcoming mission, or else there was an assembly that he would be speaking at. You did not ask him the reason; switching the subject to work was too easy of a way out. You did, however, wait until he was comfortable.

 

“You tell me that you want me to be your ally,” you began when he was seated once more on his preferred chair. “That is not the same as being your wife, Armitage. I’d be like…another Phasma to you. Some pawn on your board. Not your equal. Not someone you _care_ about.”

 

The redhead blinked twice. His mouth opened just as many times before he furrowed his brow. You smiled at the sight of his nostrils flaring as he huffed. Once more he was at a loss for words. You knew that this was partly your fault. It was not as though you had offered anything more specific such as behaviors you expected from him. In truth, you had not thought that far. His work was the most important thing to him, and you doubted that this would change; you were trying to accept that at most you would be number two in his life. It was, you had to admit, far better than whatever position he currently had you in. Five? Ten? He was too secretive for you to know where exactly you stood.

 

“You’ve opened up a few times, letting me in, allowing me to understand you,” you said. You gesticulated as you spoke, and his eyes were following your hands. “Yet you throw up those walls. You keep me shut out, as though you’re ready to discard me at a moment’s notice. You view _everyone_ as being replaceable. I… I want to actually _mean_ something to you. Beyond this war and how you can use me to further your goals.”

 

Armitage quirked one eyebrow at you. “You’re speaking of intimacy beyond sex then.”

 

“Yes,” you said, jumping a little and raising one finger. “Exactly.” You were grateful that he had caught on. “I understand that due to the war, there _will_ be some things that you cannot share with me. It is the same as with my father. I just…If you could _try_. Try to trust me. Not with everything. But in stages maybe. Vent your frustrations. I’ll listen.”

 

Your husband motioned for you to walk closer to him, and you obliged. Your chest felt as though it was constricting. He had not rejected you yet. That did not mean he wasn’t about to. There was no mocking laughter, no derisive smile. Nothing malicious. He was calm, albeit not in a calculating manner as you had seem him in the past. Armitage urged you forward more until you twisted so that you could sit sideways on his lap. You rested your head on his shoulder. This time the silence was far less awkward. There was still no answer, not completely. General Hux was now thinking of his answer since he knew what you wanted.

 

“You called me your empress,” you murmured, to which he said _I did_ in as soft of a voice. “Do you still feel that way? It’s so hard to tell if you were caught up in the moment. Personal interests shouldn’t interfere…my father used to say that as well.”

 

“I believe a portion of my inspiration for saying that to you was from my being caught up in the moment. However, I do want you by my side. If you are seeking rather affectionate husband, you’re likely to find yourself disappointed.” Despite his words, one of his hands stroked through your hair. He rested the limb on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing back and forth. It was a subconscious gesture on his part. Armitage remained staring straight forward. His eyes had glazed over a little. “Being submissive sexually and allowing you to know my secrets—those are drastically different.”

 

You pushed one of your hands into the opening of his robe. He set his other hand on your thigh as you started to caress his chest. You did not expect him to spill his guts out to you. This allowed you to enjoy the quietude as you sat there in his arms. He was experimenting with how he would feel about this arrangement; you realized this when he altered how the two of you were sitting slightly, his arms more secure around you without any sexual implications.

 

“Is there anything more personal you wish me to bring your father when I go to our planet?” You hummed in thought. You had been considering writing a letter to your father, giving him something more affectionate than you had been able to until this point. Contact with him was limited. “You should.” You tilted back your head. “I am willing to give this a trial run. I am encouraging you as your husband to send a message to your father.”

 

You felt poorly about your past jabs at _his_ father, as well as his mother. You wondered if he thought of her at all. She had not been brought along with Brendol and Armitage when the remnants of the Empire had gathered. This information you had picked up on over time. There was still much you did not know about your husband. You were trying to learn though. You wanted to fall in love with him, but to allow yourself to do so you first needed to know that he wouldn’t push you away when he realized you wanted that.

 

He was willing to try, you repeated in your head. This meant, of course, that you would have to put the past behind you. Not that you would forget he had attempted to have you killed. But to fully forgive him. There would be no more holding that over his head.

 

“Should I write it now? I… I would like you to read over it. I don’t want to do anything that would jeopardize my planet, but I also want to ensure your safety as well.”

 

Ironic that in the past you had worried about him censoring what you revealed to your father. Now you requested it. This was your sign to him that you were willing to meet him in the middle.

 

“Perhaps a video message? I’m sure your father will be glad to see your face.” You settled for both. A short letter, which you put onto the same disc that held the recording you had created. For the latter, Armitage remained out of view. He did not wish to change out of his robe, and this was not something that he wanted your father to see. The large grin that was plastered on your face throughout the video was a result of this.

 

Your husband placed the disc in the bag he would be taking with him to the planet. This was set to be stowed away on the transport shuttle by one of the stormtroopers. That would not occur until the morning—or evening depending on when exactly they were going—that he was scheduled to leave. The packed bag stuck out like a sore thumb to you. He kept his quarters neat, and even picked up _your_ few belongings when he felt like tidying up. The bag was not in the center of the room, of course, but it was _there_.

 

“Will you bring back a gift for me?” you asked, earning a loud laugh. You rolled your eyes at your husband. “I’m wanting something specific. Don’t laugh. It’s a pastry, one of my favorites.”

 

“You’re homesick,” he said, the man having sobered from his laughter. You decided to not lie or tone down your feelings, replying with the truth. You missed your home. While many had viewed you as a pawn even there, you had also had friends. You were familiar with your surroundings. You had had _fresh air_. And you had had your family, who loved you. “Leaving Arkanis changed my life. I had to adapt quickly to stay alive, to avoid punishment. Ah—don’t wince. That’s in the past.”

 

Even though he said that, you could not help but think that it still hurt him to reflect on his childhood.

 

“Now, what is the name of this pastry?” You shook your head now, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. He returned the expression. “Ah, I see. Is one you told me in the past?” You repeated the gesture. “Good. I would hate this to be a test. I suppose I will ask your father, hmm?” This time you nodded and wrapped your arms around his neck to give him a quick kiss on the lips. “This husband-wife business may be interesting after all.”


	18. Bargain

Bargain

 

When you had been but a child, you had watched your father leave on missions from which he would possibly never return. The same nervousness you felt then was what you experienced as you observed through a viewport the ship that carried your husband towards your home planet. You did not worry that your father and husband would clash. Other politicians on your planet were another story; if any wished to steal the throne from your father and husband, they would possibly align themselves with an enemy of your planet. Perhaps that was something the First Order suspected. Mikthyre, though not from your planet, could prove to be troublesome in a similar manner to any would-be traitors to the throne. On top of this was the proven threat that Armitage had revealed to you, the reason you had accompanied him to that event during which you had faced Mikthyre after years apart.

 

Dopheld Mitaka was standing a few feet behind you. He was slightly to the left, which allowed you to see his reflection in the glass. You could see worry etched on his face, which allowed you to know that this mission—that protecting your home planet—was indeed a top priority of the First Order. If they failed here, it would set precedent and dissuade future as well as current allies from placing their trust in the First Order. Or at least in General Armitage Hux.

 

“I feel as though he is still keeping me in the dark,” you whispered, ensuring that your voice was low enough where Mitaka would have to strain to catch what you said. His gaze flicked briefly to you, and he furrowed his brow as he looked again at the transport shuttle directly before it made its first jump into hyperspace. You had hoped that the _Finalizer_ would be in your planet’s atmosphere, however this was not to be the case. You turned around to consider Mitaka. The lieutenant’s eyes drifted away from the viewport as he met your gaze. “I was under the impression that Kylo Ren would be nearby. He’s left the ship.”

 

“Our enemies number more than what was initially estimated. Commander Ren has taken several of our pilots to address the issue. He is a capable pilot.” Yet again you were given a minute amount of information in regards to the First Order’s objectives, however were also left with nothing more than an assortment of new questions. How large was this number? What sort of threat was your planet and the First Order now faced with?

 

And, worse, you could not help but wonder if the plight that your planet faced was being used to promote hostile takeovers of planets that the First Order wished to utilize. Resources to build their weapons.

 

Even if your husband had been fully committed to the relationship in the sense that you so desired, the chances of him revealing the full extent of the First Order’s goals would have been low. Supreme Leader Snoke was the man behind the curtain when it came to some of those objectives. On top of that, Kylo Ren possessed his own list of tasks, and Phasma hers. There was no one person who held all the cards, all the information that you desired.

 

Growling in your throat as frustration built within you, you walked around Dopheld Mitaka and headed in the direction of your quarters. You had previously been informed that the _Finalizer_ would arrive in your planet’s atmosphere only once Phasma and/or General Hux contacted the bridge to give the order. With Kylo Ren addressing other adversaries, you knew that it would be a waste of time to attempt to gather new information. The officers refused to speak to you, each excusing themselves from the conversation. Lieutenant Mitaka was assigned to remain with you, which was the sole reason he spoke to you. You were grateful that it _was_ Mitaka with you. He was more lenient, more understanding as to why you needed any news at all. Simple statements, even the ones that brought nothing more than yet more questions. Those made you feel at least somewhat more involved.

 

Though you were resigned to remaining in your quarters, that did not mean that you were going to sit idly by and twiddle your thumbs. There was research that you could do. You fully intended to gather more information on the current threats to your homeworld. Watching the Holonet news would prove useful as well. Though the majority of First Order personnel ignored what they viewed to be skewed perception from the New Republic, you knew the importance of seeing what was broadcast. Tiny snippets of truth could generally be obtained from bundles of lies. You wished to know how influential the Mikthyre family was, for starters. What would the future death of the man you so hated mean? War sometimes started on planets when relatives, hated as they were, were murdered.

 

Dopheld Mitaka did not follow you into your quarters, not that you had expected him to. You offered a quick nod of departure then allowed the door to close. You paused in your next step, however, when you noticed a light blinking on a circular device set on the chair. You did not know how you had missed it when you had left the room to see Armitage off. Unless he had distracted you from it. You walked over to it, tapping a button, which prompted a hologram of your husband to appear.

 

_Standing at parade rest, the holographic Armitage began to speak, “As we have discussed in the past, there are many things that I have yet to teach you. I do admit that I, too, will have things to learn in order for our marital relationship to work as you wish. Unfortunately, business does come first. Although, in this case, I trust that you agree. The threat from the pirates’ relatives is something that Kylo Ren will be taking care of. It seems that our presence together at the event did have quite an impact as to how many chose to align themselves with such scum._

 

 _“Of course, you must now be wondering why Phasma and I are, nevertheless, leaving to visit our planet. I imagine that you will be quite angry with me when I return to the_ Finalizer _. A lesson that you will learn in time is that there are stages one must take in order to successfully nad fully eliminate their enemies. Mikthyre, loathsome as he may be, is from a prominent family. Killing him now, or at least in a manner that can be traced back to you in any way, will serve to only place our planet in further danger. So why are you not along for this ride?”_

 

_The holographic version of your husband heaved a sigh. “Sentimentality is a weakness, and it is one that I cannot allow here. Ensuring that talks of peace prevail between your father and a handful of political figureheads is of the utmost importance. A threat to this peace comes in the form of one man whom you have known since childhood. Not your father. I can picture you worrying that I would be hinting at that.”_

 

He knew you more than you had realized, you thought. You had lowered yourself onto your knees while you watched the recording. Your head was tilted back, your eyes fixated on your husband. And your heart? It was beating a mile a minute. Your limbs were beginning to tremble. There were several faces filtering through your head. People you had known since you were younger. People you cared for, that you would never wish to be killed.

 

You cupped a hand over your mouth to hold in a… A scream? A sob? You felt so dizzy.

 

_“Betrayal has so many levels. I betrayed you in the beginning of our marriage...and this as well is a small betrayal. I do not believe you would be able to act sensibly, to keep your wits together as you did when I hired someone to kill you; not if you were face to face with the man when his betrayal was revealed to you. That hesitation would be the death of you or your father, or it would lead to your father giving into the man’s demands in order to save your life.”_

 

You wrapped your arms around yourself, your fingertips digging into your arms. You wanted him to give you the name of the man who had betrayed your family. Somehow, though, you knew that you would not be given it. Not until Armitage returned or else summoned you to your planet. This helped you to narrow the names of your list down to two. Because of this, you knew that everything Armitage had said was true. You would have frozen.

 

Sentimentality could destroy you if you let it. You did not believe that it was nothing more than a weakness, and you hoped that, despite his words, Armitage did not think it was only that either.

 

_“Phasma would not allow your father to make such a trade if that was put into play. You are, to her, just as you stated. An acceptable loss. I do not view you as such. It is not that I love you as you want me to. I do feel more deeply for you than I have any other person in my life. I debated allowing you to come after you requested that I treat you more like my wife. Ironically, it is that very reason that I also decided against it. I have never before felt the urge to protect someone as I do now. I would rather endure your anger, your disappointment than see you dead.” His brow was furrowed, although the recording rendered it blurry so that you could not see every minute detail. “I have not forgotten your request. A pastry...although I am uncertain if you will be in the mood to enjoy it when I return.”_

 

The recording ended there. No _I love you_ , which would have seemed far too out of character for him. Not to mention that you would have been resentful if he uttered those words for the first time when delivering such news to you. Someone you loved was to be killed. If he wasn’t, your father would be in danger.

 

You wondered why life wanted to work this way. To gain the love of someone new, you would be losing someone from your past.

 

You stared at the empty spot where the hologram of your husband had been. Though you understood that he was protecting you, he had been correct. You were angry. You were hurt. You wished he would have told you before he had left. It should have been your choice as to whether you wanted to go or not. Logic and emotions sometimes went hand in hand. You did not know if this was one of those circumstances, or if it was quite the opposite.

 

Phasma would have allowed you to die.

 

Had General Hux chosen you over Phasma, or was this more convenient? You did not know. You didn’t want to ask either. You wanted to be angry. To rage.

 

But how could you when he had at long last started to truly _feel_ something for you?

 

You wiped at the tears that were forming in your eyes. “Kriff.” You hated that you were crying. You were vulnerable and confused. You wanted to punch your husband in the face. At the same time, you wanted to wrap your arms around him in a hug. You wanted to embrace him, to kiss him. You wanted _him_ to hold _you_ as you dealt with your emotions. “Kriffing Mikthyre is allowed to remain alive, of course.”

 

You grabbed the device, pulled it down to the ground, and started to transmission over. You did not want to listen to what your husband said. You wanted to watch his face. To see him. Perhaps put your fist through the hologram—you hadn’t expected to do that, however you withdrew your limb all the same. You paused, cupping your hand and placing it closer to the hologram.


	19. Preparations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone had a good Mother's Day!
> 
> For those of you who don't follow me on instagram, just a head's up that this fic is my main project/priority for my fics at this time. I am aiming to have 1 to 2 chapters posted each week until I finish this up (unless, obviously, life/health call for a delay in a chapter ever).

Preparations

 

It was nigh impossible to rage in the way that you needed. To do so would cause destruction, needless chaos that would spiral you further into a state of despair. You were the princess of your planet. As such, you had been taught from a young age how to apply yourself in these sorts of circumstances. You were surrounded by texts; they had been your intended goal when you had come to the quarters you shared with your husband. They no longer felt quite like _your_ quarters, not now. Past hurts prodded at your mind. You attempted to bat them away as best you could. You had already told yourself that you could forgive Armitage for his attempt to have you assassinated. If you were to be upset, it had to be about _this_ betrayal. Only this one.

 

_I don’t want to think about that right now._

 

You pressed the heel of your hand to the center of your forehead. You had come to terms with the fact that Mikthyre would be left alive. It was not as though you had to endure his presence, and thus he was overall easily pushed out of your thoughts. It was more important for you to learn more about the First Order’s goals, and why it was that they found it necessary to maintain their façade of being passive rather than aggressive in their methods. Their goal to do away with the New Republic had become more than clear to you. Thus it did make sense that they would wish to appear innocuous—but why? They could easily overthrow the fledgling government. The New Republic had hindered itself by rejecting military might.

 

These thoughts led you to learning more about the Resistance, and you studied key individuals more specifically. Leia Organa, for one, had been cast aside by many in the New Republic as a warmonger. All due to her relation to Darth Vader. This perception became more widespread when she voiced her worries in regards to the First Order. It seemed as though the New Republic was more keen on watching the actions of the Resistance than the First Order. Or, that is to say, the media that was controlled by the New Republic. People wanted peace. Many were quite willing to bury their heads in the sand when it came to thinking that an army was being raised to overthrow the New Republic.

 

This was rather foolish, you thought. The senators squabbled with one another. Many planets such as yours were not given aid when requested and/or required.

 

These problems were not so publicly televised. The holonet news, though not as censored as when the Empire had been the ruling body, did not do justice to planets that could not pay for stories to run. Gangsters in the Outer Rim? Oh, it’s always been like that so we’ll simply focus on the issues that we face every day on _these_ planets, the ones that make up Hosnian Prime. Or else the ones that have ties to our war heroes.

 

It was biased. It was, well, political.

 

When it came down to it, you did not agree with all that the First Order represented. That did not mean that you were fond of all ideology that stemmed from the New Republic. Both were flawed. It was the First Order that had come to the aid of your planet, and it was into the First Order that you married.

 

You had to, you knew, place the man who would be killed by your husband into a similar category as the New Republic. Those who would watch your planet fall, your people be slaughtered, and shrug it off. General Armitage Hux—your husband, calculating and cruel at times—was correct. Sentimentality could not interfere with what needed to be done to ensure that your people remained alive. As much as you would forever care for the man you had known since childhood, whichever of the two you believed him to be, that did not mean you would condone a betrayal from him. It was a small mercy that you would not have to watch him die.

 

Shoving aside sentimentality again, you considered the fact that Captain Phasma would forever be considered a risk to your planet. She viewed it much the same as the New Republic had: not worth saving. You were willing to oblige your husband’s request that you leave her to his care for the time being. Yet you needed to make your own allies. Phasma seemed the type to not form attachments, or at least not ones she would be incapable of severing. Everyone was expendable to her. What was occurring with the man from your childhood had allowed you to recognize this in its entirety. It was precisely why, as Ren would say, you needed to play your cards correctly.

 

Maintaining a façade of ignorance in regards to First Order business would be imperative. If Phasma grew too suspicious of you, you doubted that you would be able to survive her attempt on your life.

 

“A lesson that you will learn in time is that there are stages one must take in order to successfully and fully eliminate their enemies.”

 

You were taking Armitage’s words to heart, although you doubted that he had meant you to apply his teachings to how you would deal with Captain Phasma. She could not know how interested in eventually killing her you were; you knew that it would come down to her death at some point, it was an inarguable fact. She had made this clear on more than a single occasion. You needed to learn her weaknesses. On top of that, you would need to find allies who would choose you over her. That was not going to be easy. For one thing, sentimentality would be required, no matter how small.

 

Kylo Ren, as helpful as he had been, would put his own goals first. Whether he chose you or Phasma, it would depend upon what circumstances called for. Dopheld Mitaka was a possible candidate. You would have to spend more time with him. You doubted that Phasma would become suspicious if you did so. Should the lieutenant not prove loyal to you, interacting with him would nonetheless result in you conversing with more officers. You needed to start the chain somewhere. If your research into the First Order had shown you anything useful, this was it. Following the chains; it was not solely based on rank. People mingled with others due to similar interests or home worlds.

 

 _Stars, redirecting my anger onto Phasma instead of Armitage is working wonders_ , you thought, your eyebrows rising towards your hairline. You pushed aside one of the texts that had provided you with only a minute amount of useful information. The author enjoyed embellishing on events you found boring or irrelevant to your needs. If you were to make allies aboard the _Finalizer_ , you wanted to first learn more about how the officers were trained. You had already gathered that stormtroopers were viewed as being lesser. The hierarchy of the First Order resembled your planet. It brought to mind Mikthyre’s comment in regards to you _stepping down from the throne_.

 

You could not change the dynamics at this point. That would make the majority of the First Order become your enemy. Specifically, your husband would view your actions as a severe betrayal. Phasma would have a field day if she was granted permission to kill you.

 

If I am allowed on my planet, there is the possibility of encouraging some of my people to join the First Order. I want them by my side. Their loyalties would be secured—I’d make sure of it.

 

So absorbed in the texts and your thoughts were you that it escaped your attention how hungry you had become. A light knock on the door accompanied by the smell of a warm meal, however, caused your stomach to loudly gurgle. You piled all the texts together then shoved them underneath your bed. Unsure as to the identity of your visitor, you were not about to chance your plans becoming obsolete already. Phasma could not have any more edges. It was a female officer accompanied by a droid that entered. You had seen her once or twice before, however could not remember her name. Many faces were familiar to you; you passed by more people aboard the _Finalizer_ than you ever had in your home.

 

“Kylo Ren returned from his mission—I don’t know if you were informed of this yet or not, ma’am.” You realized that you had not checked your personal messaging account. For all you knew, someone had sent a message the moment Ren had returned. After waiting for your reaction for a handful of seconds, the female officer cleared her throat. “He is leaving to join General Hux on the planet. You are to remain aboard the _Finalizer,_ which will be entering your planet’s atmosphere within the next hour. As soon as we receive word that Kylo Ren has arrived, you will be called to begin preparations for your visit. In the meantime, I have been instructed to ensure you eat.”

 

With the final sentence, she gestured to the droid that had accompanied her. Your eyes followed her hand to the tray that the droid held. You were torn as to whether you should thank her. She was there following orders. Your manners, however, won out. You uttered a thanks, flashed a quick grin, and grabbed the tray from the droid. The officer dismissed herself without attempting further conversation. The droid trailed along after her. With a sigh, you retook the seat on the floor you had previously occupied. This time you placed the food in front of yourself instead of texts.

 

Your stomach churned. Without tasks to keep your mind mostly busy, your emotions were once more surging forward. Someone you loved was either dead already or would soon be killed. Perhaps that was why your husband was delaying bringing you there.

 

When you removed the lid from the food, you breathed a sigh of relief. Your husband had clearly been in charge of what meal was brought to you. The roll was recognizable as one of the protein infused vegetable rolls. Its orange color allowed you to know exactly what vegetable had used. This would aid in soaking up some of the acid from your churning stomach. You did not believe you would have been able to handle much else. You tore off a small piece, stuffed it into your mouth, and started to chew. To keep moving, you lifted up the bottle of water, unscrewed the lid, and took a drink.

 

You did not know who you would be mourning, which prevented you from fully giving into your emotions. You promised yourself that you would grieve, but only after you learned which man from your childhood had met with death.

 

More than anything, you hoped that Phasma was the one to execute the man. It was so easy to hate her more; you already disliked her. If your husband was the one to kill someone you loved, what then? The question gave you vertigo.

 

It’s all surreal right now. That’s how I’m holding on. I feel as though I’m ready to come apart at the seams. Anything… It’s going to come crashing eventually. Maker, don’t have me in Phasma’s presence when it happens.

 

The dry consistency of the bread caused it to stick in your throat. You took another swig of your water, ate four bites more, and then nudged aside the rest.

 

You had played a similar game before. When Armitage had attempted to have you killed, you had been forced to conceal your thoughts and emotions better than ever you had before. Now was the time to use that experience as a lesson. You could do it again. Contain your emotions even when you heard the name—you would mourn in private. Phasma would never be allowed to see just how much it hurt you to lose those you cared for. She had to suspect it.

 

Let her underestimate me.

 

Your husband no longer did. You smiled to yourself at that; a sardonic grin that would have unnerved your father. It was interesting, to you, to think about how naïve you had been in some areas of life. Not everyone was forced to live through what you had. You envied those who didn’t.

 

_It doesn’t matter, though, does it? **This** is my life. This is what I must do. I can survive it. My parents taught me how to thrive in this world, and Armitage wants me to learn more from him. I will learn. More about the First Order and more about Phasma. I will do all that I can for my people._

 

You did not know for certain if your resolve would remain when you heard the name. In that moment, though, you had a strong suspicious that you _would_ succeed.


	20. Maturation

Maturation

 

Looking out at your planet from aboard the _Finalizer_ , you cannot help but admire its beauty. Your mind began to dredge up memories from your childhood up to before you married Armitage Hux. Many of those sights could only be appreciated when one was on the planet’s surface. Somehow, though, you doubted that you would be permitted enough time to visit all the locations you wished to. Nor were you certain that you would wish to, once the weight of your loss crashed down upon you.

 

A pastry was not going to improve your mood in the least. You did want to see your husband, although you _were_ upset with him. You wished to see your father as well. Both of them were important to you, and they were the only two beings you trusted in the universe to catch so much as a glimpse of you while you were in an emotional state. You could keep a mask until you were alone in their presence, you told yourself. That was half the battle. If you could convince yourself that you possessed the strength to get through it, you were halfway there. Making it reality was the next step.

 

_I can concentrate on my anger, on how I feel about Phasma, if it comes down to it._

 

You stepped away from the viewport. Before you had exited the quarters you shared with your husband, you had dressed in more appropriate travel wear. Extra clothing had been packed into a bag that had already been taken away to be placed on the transport shuttle you would be taking to your home world. Kylo Ren was there now, you thought. The entire First Order triumvirate. They truly were using your planet’s status to their advantage, to set precedence. This also would prove to assist them in explaining the size of their military might if they were questioned before they were ready to truly reveal themselves and their intentions. It would all be, they would say, to protect your planet and others like it—their allies.

 

 _I will play along. If I am able to set aside my emotions for long enough, I can properly ensure that I have **my** allies brought aboard the _ Finalizer.

 

You smoothed the front of your attire then crossed your arms behind your back in a stance that was quite similar, if not identical, to the one your husband often used. Currently it was nothing more than a waiting game. Kylo Ren would soon contact the _Finalizer_ , and at that point you would rejoin Armitage. Your eyes scanned the faces of personnel who were walking through the corridor. Only a handful spared you so much as a glance. Many were accustomed to your presence; and those who were not quickly adapted. The stormtroopers ignored you completely. You did not mind this, especially since you were unable to see their faces beyond those masks they wore.

 

That observation caused you a moment of pause. It would be wise to ensure that none of your allies were brought into the stormtrooper program…if that was even a possibility. From what you had gathered, most stormtroopers were taken as children. Perhaps they were brainwashed? Many did seem loyal beyond reason. Loyal to Phasma. You would not allow that.

 

“Mrs. Hux,” a voice called to you. You stirred from your thoughts, twisting at your torso and giving the approaching officer a once-over. “The ship is being prepared. I am to escort you to the docking bay.”

 

You followed the officer without question. By the time you arrived, the ship was fully prepared; you were grateful for this, having no desire to continue with the waiting game. Not one of the few officers who accompanied you to your planet spoke during the journey. You stared blankly out the front of the shuttle.

 

The numbness that had entered you remained even as you disembarked from the vessel. There was no one to meet you aside from a stormtrooper who took you to your quarters. Your husband was waiting for you there. Nothing had changed since you had left. Your father clearly had not touched a thing, and he had to have given an order for no one to enter your room. Armitage had not been inside of your room prior to your marriage. You couldn’t help but wonder what his reaction had been when he had first stepped inside.

 

Neither of you spoke until the door closed, the stormtrooper having left. “I thought it best to allow you some privacy when you learn—“

 

“Stop,” you said, cutting him off. His lips pressed into a thin line, however he nodded in acceptance of your attitude. “Just tell me.”

 

General Hux did not speak to you in a softer tone than what he had already been using. There was nothing condescending in his mannerisms. He was matter-of-fact. The same as he always was.

 

“Orion Ferali.”

 

You did not cry. It felt surreal to you even when the name was said. Orion had been like an older brother to you. You felt yourself swaying a little. This prompted Armitage to take a single step closer to you. He would have taken more had you not held up a hand in a silent order for him to stop. Eventually the emotions would build up enough that you would break down. You had time, though. Your anger and frustration far outweighed your hurt. That, or you had changed more than you had believed. Everything that Armitage had put you through had prepared you for this.

 

He was watching you much the same as he had when you had pretended you hadn’t known who had attempted to have you killed. Cautious. Unsure how to approach you. Suspicious. There was something different in his gaze too. Worry. Concern for you. In that moment, you knew that he had hoped your grief would set in fast, that the two of you could work through it together before it was time to meet with your father and the other political figures who remained on planet.

 

Ignoring the presence of the man you had married, you crossed your old bedroom to your dresser. Your hands skimmed along the surface. Smooth, save for an indentation hardly noticeable to the naked eye. You could not remember what had caused the flaw. The dresser had been this way for as long as you could remember.

 

“I’ve thought about this place a lot. I’ve been homesick, but… It doesn’t really feel like home. Not really. All of my memories are here. My family. You’re here now too.” You slid your hand away from the indentation. “I feel like I’m dreaming.”

 

When you looked to your husband, you found that Armitage had lowered his gaze to the floor. He appeared to be thinking on what you had said to him, perhaps even formulating a plan. He had made it clear to you in the recording that he did care for you. Though he currently valued Phasma as his ally, you knew that he would protect you from her. He already had. Twice now actually, you noted. By not having you present when Orion was killed, and by having you brought directly to him away when you arrived. Armitage was not allowing Phasma to see you in moments that your vulnerability could show.

 

“You taught me how to hide my feelings,” you murmured. His eyes snapped upwards, and you locked your gaze with his. “You’re pretty good at reading me.”

 

“If you show signs of breaking down, I won’t allow her to see it.” He closed the distance that had been between the two of you, and you remained perfectly still. When he set one hand on your upper arm, however, you shifted forward and rested your forehead on his collarbone. Armitage hesitated in fully embracing you. You could feel the muscles in his arms tense then shift before he paused. In the next breath, he gave in to the urge to hold you.

 

You could not help but wonder how surreal the moment felt for him. Your husband sought power; he craved it more than anything. Yet here he was, allowing himself to feel something for you.

 

You felt a lot for him. Anger. Affection. Frustration. A sense of urgent need.

 

“I want to learn how to survive this…this life. This war. I have to be strong for my people. I need those who are loyal to _me_ to be nearby.” You tilted back your head. Armitage also shifted how he was standing. “I debated telling you. Then I watched your message another time. You want me safe…but you’re also busy. This is the only way you can have both.”

 

Your words encouraged your husband to lean down and kiss you. The feeling of numbness lessened, some of your anger subsiding. That, or it was clouded by desire. You wanted to be held—was it because you wanted sex, or to be comforted? You did not know, and you hardly cared.

 

Armitage laid you out on your bed. The blankets became wrinkled. In the back of your mind, you noted that the pillows here were much softer than those aboard the Star Destroyer. It almost made you laugh. Had you been paying more attention to it, you would have. _You_ had been soft when you had first married this man. It was not as though you had been oblivious to how the galaxy worked. War. Politics. But you had been removed from them. Now you had seen them. You had faced death. You were not soft anymore…even if your body was.

 

General Armitage Hux was anything but soft. His personality. His style of command. His cock. Your eyelids fluttered at that, the feel of him pressed against you. The pair of you began to strip. His lips were chapped. They would have been a contradiction to everything else if they hadn’t been. Soft. You remembered his lips being soft the other times the two of you had had sex. His hair was gelled back. You began to muss it up after you were naked. Armitage chuckled then kissed you again. Your tongues intertwined.

 

It hurt to breathe as he moved inside of you. He was being gentle, and had even paused when the tears had started. You had responded to this by grabbing at his forearms, scrambling to prevent him from breaking contact with you.

 

Lying there with his arms around you after it was over, you couldn’t help but feel that the last of your childhood had finally faded away. This room in which you had grown, in which Orion had tutored you from time to time along with several other instructors; it now symbolized the first time that your husband had made love to you. It wasn’t fucking. Was not simply sex. You could feel the tenderness in his kisses.

 

What sealed it was that he said it.

 

“I think I do love you.”


	21. Strategy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, 28 chapters SHOULD be enough to finish up the storyline I have; however, if it seems to me that it won't be sufficient for tying up all ends, I'll extend it by a few.

Strategy

 

Your husband did not sound frightened nor confused when he spoke those words. There was a hint of surprise to his tone. It was not that he felt anything for you that managed to catch him off guard. It was the depth of those feelings. Previously he had wanted only power. That had been his one love in life. Now, however, he valued a person. You. _You_. His declaration sucked all air from your lungs, which left you feeling light headed. It didn’t help that you were mid-orgasm when he had told you that he believed he loved you. The two of you were watching one another, waiting for the other to react. To say something, to make this feel entirely real. For you, it was a dream come true; that you were married to someone who cared for you. And for him… You wondered if he was waiting for rejection, or if he worried that the poor circumstances of this visit to your planet would taint what he had said.

 

Somehow, it didn’t. You were able to set aside the hurt that you were experiencing over the loss of Orion. In that moment, the two of you connected physically and emotionally, your attention was on Armitage and Armitage alone.

 

“Not just the sex?” you asked. There was a part of you that felt horrid for posing the question. It was too difficult for you to not, though. The pair of you had truly begun to bond only after your marriage had been consummated. You enjoyed the sex as well, of course. Armitage’s words of wanting you as his ally floated through your mind. But being his ally was different than being his wife. It was not the same to be desired as an ally as it was to be loved.

 

If he was at all insulted by your question, he hid it well. “Not just the sex,” he repeated. As he spoke, your husband brushed his knuckles down the side of your face then back up again. You leaned into the caress, lifted your hand, and cupped his wrist to encourage him to not break contact. “I hadn’t expected to care for you when we married.” His words did not insult you. These were facts you had heard before. Plus, you thought, you had been strangers when you had married. There was still much that you did not know about him, however you had grown to love parts of him. His dedication. And, yes, the sex was also something that you loved.

 

One thing you had grown to adore was how he assessed you. He had viewed you as being a formidable foe, which meant that he appreciated your intelligence. He complimented your body as well. These were the factors that had led you to desiring a more emotionally involved relationship with the man you had married.

 

“I love you too,” you said. You wondered if _this_ was how he had felt when he had spoken those words. Your face felt hot, your heart hammering in your chest. There was a pounding in your ears—your heart—that threatened to drown out everything else. As though he would utter the words _just kidding_. Some sort of rejection.

 

Your husband did not betray you again.

 

“Phasma poses a great danger to you if she believes you are too much of a threat,” he began. As he spoke, Armitage placed a hand on your hip. His grip was more firm than it had been when the two of you had had sex. From this alone you knew that he was not lying to you, and that what he said was important. “I trust her right now to help the First Order. I also trust that, if it was my life or hers, she would choose her own. She is a different sort of ally than you are. That is not even taking into consideration the fact that you are my wife, or that I care for you.

 

“The First Order requires its stormtroopers to be as committed as possible. More than that, they must be well trained. Before Phasma, there was room for improvement. When they are younger, the stormtroopers are trained by another. It is after Phasma has them that they go on real missions. These are essential for the success of the First Order. And, at this point, they are essential for protecting our planet. I view you as my wife…yet I must also, at times, treat you as a pawn to move on the board. You are not a pawn that can be taken by the enemy nor destroyed. If you are, the game is over.”

 

Though he had phrased things in terms of a game, and despite the fact that he had referred to you as a pawn, it was because he was a strategist, a tactician, that you were able to fully appreciate what he was saying. He loved you. Loved you deeply enough that, for him, the only way he would win the game of war of life was to have you by his side. Armitage truly did view you as an empress.

 

You now, more than before, understood why he had believed it imperative to keep you away during Orion’s execution. A moment of weakness from you that Phasma could utilize. Or else an excuse for Phasma to pull the trigger and have you murdered. A casualty of war; that’s what you imagined her calling it. Or perhaps she would only stare blankly at Hux. Wait to chastise him for being sentimental over your death. Private sentimentality was on thing—he could leave recorded messages for you that would not be viewed by Phasma. General Armitage Hux could not, however, allow Phasma to get a leg over him. Because he was correct. If the situation called for it, if Phasma was put into a position where she had to choose saving her own hide or helping your husband, she would choose herself without a moment’s hesitation.

 

“I forgive you,” you whispered. “But it still hurts.” Those normally cold blue-green eyes softened. His mask dropped, and you were able to see the man underneath. The man who cared for you, who loved you and wanted to protect you.

 

As quickly as he had dropped his mask, Armitage’s facial features once more became guarded. You appreciated that he had allowed even that brief moment of vulnerability with you. You did not press for more, knowing that it would taint the moment, that it could potentially prevent him from ever truly opening up to you even when Phasma no longer presented a threat.

 

It was strange, you thought. In all your fantasies while you had been a child, and through your teenage years, you had not imagined that a marriage filled with love, no matter the amount, would demand the amount of vigilance that was demanded from the two of you. You realized that you would not be able to again pit Armitage against Phasma when in the woman’s presence. Your husband would choose _you_ in the end, however the chrome-armored stormtrooper could not know this. At least not for certain; she would no doubt suspect it from time to time.

 

As distasteful as it was, you knew that you would have to use Orion’s death to your advantage. You were upset by his demise, and a part of you did blame your husband even if you were able to forgive him. Phasma had to believe that you were more bitter than you truly were. You had to act distant and snobbish; more like how you had been with Armitage before the two of you had started to learn more about one another. The man you loved already knew this as well. There was no need for discussion on that point. You would each have to push against the other when in Phasma’s company. The tricky part was not pushing too far, not hurting one another. If either of you did so, that woman would be the victor.

 

 _I won’t allow that,_ you thought while clenching your jaw. Your expression had turned sour, which had prompted your husband to knit his brow for a breath before he clearly caught on to your train of thought. He placed his lips on your forehead in a quick kiss while murmuring that all would work just fine. You simply needed to trust him.

 

It was almost insane that you did. He had tried to kill you, and, more recently, he had hid the fact that someone you cared for would be killed. You genuinely forgave him for these offenses no matter the lingering sense of hurt. Just the same, Armitage had forgiven you for the hurtful things you had said, the countless times you had called him a bastard. You knew that insult stung him the most. It cut deep into his pride, his sense of self. He was _not_ just some bastard. He was…Armitage. Your husband. The man you now reached for, cupping his cheeks and giving a peck on the lips before pulling out of his embrace and sliding out of bed.

 

You stood by the bed long enough to wrap yourself in a robe that had been folded and placed in your bedside drawer. You had not been home in quite some time, however you easily remembered where everything was placed. All your hiding spots—you had a journal that you would have to remember to burn. It would be foolish to allow it to continue to exist, though you would miss the ability to read it. But you could not chance it falling into Phasma’s hands, or any potential, future enemies that could arise. Before you destroyed it, you would read it again. Perhaps there were a select few pages that you could copy for sentimentality’s sake. Things that were safe, that Phasma could not take away or use as a weapon against you.

 

“Is it strange that I’ve missed my clothes?” You asked this question while walking to the closet. You stepped inside, your hand running along the first few articles of clothing. Armitage propped himself up on his elbows to better observe you. You looked over your shoulder at him, deciding that you enjoyed the view. “I never thought I was especially materialistic, but there are some things that just…” You sighed, shook your head, and failed at finding the right words to describe what it was you were feeling.

 

The man you had married remained quiet. The two of you were delaying the inevitable conversation that would lead to you being in Phasma’s presence. You wanted to see your father. Maker, you wanted to see him. Before that occurred, you and Armitage would need to discuss a plan for bringing some of your people aboard the _Finalizer_. This could not be done in front of Phasma. She had to believe that you had only a limited amount of say when it came to how the First Order ran.

 

You dropped your hand away from the shirt you had been tugging at. “Those who seem particularly interested in Phasma would easily be swayed by her, right?”

 

“Not in all cases, however it is a safe assumption to make. We cannot have careless mistakes,” he replied. “With Orion…” Armitage sagely allowed his voice to trail off the moment you flinched at the sound of Orion’s name. You nodded, locking gazes with him. You softened your expression long enough for him to know that there was no need to apologize for your discomfort. It was something you would have to deal with. Stars knew Phasma would use it to her advantage. She’d likely utter Orion’s name countless times to watch you squirm.

 

You slipped your feet into a pair of slippers that matched your robe then exited the closet, closing the door behind yourself. “If only those who speak with me while I’m here are selected, Phasma will become suspicious.” A nod from him. “I have to trust you with this.”

 

“I won’t fail you.” You, once more, believed what your husband was saying. It felt as though some of the weight you were carrying was lifted. You hoped that you provided the same sense of relief for Armitage. He had viewed you as being a worthy opponent for himself. You took this to mean that he also believed you could last against Captain Phasma in a battle of wills. That was what would be occurring. She was a pawn on your husband’s board, one that could not be sacrificed until the last possible moment. Mikthyre was much the same. You could use that. Focus your frustrations on him. Phasma would always be suspicious of you, however she would grow arrogant if you acted like the spoiled brat she believed you to be. That was another thing that Armitage had taught you, something that he had reminded you of in his video message.

 

You climbed onto the bed with him to enjoy the final few minutes left to the two of you. Soon, it would be time to rejoin the rest of the world. For you to meet with your father, which you were looking forward to; to be in the presence of Phasma, which you hated.

 

“I love you,” you whispered, your heart hammering in your chest as you waited to see how he would respond. If that had been a one time occurrence.

 

Armitage sighed, closed his eyes, and rested his head against yours. “Empress.” Your racing heart stuttered, and you held your breath. “I love you as well.” You did not have to see his face to know he was smirking. He had promised you this before, to allow you to take lead when the two of you were alone. Now it meant so much more to you since it was not only in a sexual sense or in terms of power plays. “Remember now… In public, you need to follow my lead.”

 

“I need to act more childish actually,” you teased, earning a chuckle. You smiled, closed your eyes, and enjoyed those final five minutes you had alone with him.


	22. Disguised

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be longer.

Disguised

While you would have preferred to have the reunion with your father be a more private affair, at least initially, your luck did not pull through. Captain Phasma had already been aware that you were fond of your father and planet. That did not mean that you had been open to having her present when you launched yourself at your father to give him a hug. You caught yourself midway through the actions, which helped you to make the embrace more controlled than it would have been. Your father returned the hug, albeit loosely, and patted your back. Had the two of you been alone, he would have placed more emotion into the gesture. As it was, not only was Phasma present, but so were several other of your planet’s political figures including the head of the family that was favored for taking over the throne if your father’s—now to include Hux’s—bloodline failed the planet. An election would take place to make things official, of course. Despite this, it was traditional on your planet that certain guards side with the chosen bloodline to protect them from potential threats.

Kylo Ren was not like Phasma. Where she was clearly observing you and searching for weaknesses to exploit at later times, he was more interested in finding a place to stand where he did not have to interact with others. You looked over your shoulder at him for a brief moment then returned your attention to your father. Armitage stood by your side without touching you. The act that the two of you were not getting along well had already begun. You couldn’t help but wonder if Kylo saw through the façade. Or, more importantly, if Phasma was able to.

Your father kept a hand on your shoulder when the hug was completed and he angled his body to address Leu M’yan. Leu had previously served in the royal guard before he had branched towards a different career path following an injury that had left him with a lingering limp. The man had been involved in contacting the New Republic senators prior to the First Order offering its aid. You sometimes wondered if M’yan had played a hand in arranging your marriage General Hux. While you valued his expertise, Leu M’yan had never been someone you had aimed to develop even a working relationship with. This was in part due to his view that women had no place in ruling a planet. Strangely enough, he did not believe they _belonged_ at home necessarily. There were several female guards that had served under him, and there had never been any complaints in regards to his behavior towards them.

 

A queen could protect the king, much the same as in several games. If the king fell, the game was over. The queen could be defeated without one losing the game.

 

You did not agree with this stance, and you doubted that your husband did. When it came down to it, Armitage was likely to disagree with _anyone_ who wasn’t _him_ being in power. Gender was not an issue.

 

 _Except,_ you reminded yourself, _in private, he does let me take the lead._

 

You had to suppress the smile that was threatening to form. It was a different expression than one you would give to anyone else. Where many would mistake the grin for being meant for your father, Phasma would not. She would know, and then the plan would grind to a halt before things could fully begin to move. You quickly returned your attention to your father and Leu. Armitage shifted away from you. You observed him through quick glances. The frown that formed was genuine. You had no idea what he was doing. It was a necessity, one that you loathed.

 

“Perhaps you would enjoy a stroll in the gardens before we sit to eat,” your father said, breaking through your thoughts. There was no delay in your answer. You nodded, slipped your arm into your father’s, and walked by his side as the pair of you led the way. Some of the guests that had been speaking with your father followed along—the First Order triumvirate was, of course, included—however there were some who remained behind. One of the guards who was assigned to watch those not following you to the garden had previously caught your eye. You had had limited interactions with him. Those few, though, had all been pleasant and left a good impression. He was one you would consider in bringing aboard the _Finalizer_ if possible.

 

Upon entering the garden, your mind became distracted from the plans to gain an upper hand against Captain Phasma. The aroma from the flowers mingled together. It was not overpowering in terms of scent. What struck you were the memories that surged forward. There was a small corner of the garden that had a deep purple bloom your planet used for funerals. There was a stone there inscribed with the names of those who had perished while performing heroic acts. Prior to your marriage, during your short engagement to the redhead, you had sat in front of the stone each night and traced your fingers along the names. There were those who had died before you were born, and others you had known.

 

You looked in the direction that the stone and flowers were located. Not that you could see them from your current position. Your father likely caught your actions; he patted the back of your hand. There would be no visiting that corner, not during this trip to your home planet. You felt somewhat like a stranger, a foreigner. You were in the awkward position of being the _wife_ of the next in line to the throne. All semblance of power had been stripped away, and it was now that you realized how little power you had always held. It was less than the miniscule amount you had previously imagined.

 

In time, it would be far more. You did not wish to think about that future. It meant your father would have passed away—the one alternative being that your husband secured himself as emperor over the new order that would preside over the galaxy when the New Republic and Resistance were properly taken care of. The latter was not painful to think about. You simply did not want to grow too self-sure. That would be a folly.

 

“I am grateful that we have the chance to see one another,” your father said. His voice was soft, although you would not go so far as to say that he was whispering. It was a measured volume that prevented present company, all of which were several feet away by that point, from overhearing. You lowered your stare to the ground. A slight tremor in your father’s voice was all that had been necessary for you to know that the act of being upset with Armitage was one at which you were excelling. You felt dirty lying to your father this way, being unable to tell him the truth. It stung most of all because he did not know how you and Armitage had begun to care for one another. That had to be terrifying for him.

 

You flicked your eyes to your father’s face before answering. “I was not certain he would allow me to come. When I learned about Orion…” You pinched your lips into a frown. Both you and your father twisted to consider your husband, who stood close to Captain Phasma. It felt as though someone sucker punched you at the sight. You turned back around, your actions swift enough that your father did a double take. “It’s safe here now though, isn’t it?”

 

“The First Order is taking care of everything.” He pulled you closer, his arm wrapped around you in full. “General Hux—your husband has suggested that we allow several of the royal guards to join the First Order. It will be on a trial basis. I believe Phasma wishes to have some of our youth enrolled in the stormtrooper program as well. I believe others will be made into officers.”

 

The stone path curved, and you knew that it would be only a matter of minutes before everyone returned indoors for a meal. You were not particularly hungry. You had already suspected that the food you were served onboard the _Finalizer_ contained some sort of medication for keeping you from becoming impregnated. There was no confirmation. Your cycle was off though. With that, your appetite had been altered.

 

War was no time to have a child. For Armitage, it would be another person to protect, another piece to keep an eye on as he maneuvered the chessboard. You would have preferred he had given you a choice to take the medication or not.

 

You paused beside a bush with red buds. The center of the flowers would be yellow when they bloomed. You had made a crown out of the flowers several times in your youth. The gardener had not been fond of you picking the flowers from the garden, although she had never verbally chastised you. There had been severe looks instead. You had cackled to yourself; such a brat, you thought now, you had been such a brat at times. One finger trailing along several of the leaves near a bud that was close to blooming, you sighed and gazed at your father.

 

“Did he tell you of Mikthyre?”

 

“Yes.” His nostrils flared. “He told me of your reaction as well. It is not an easy position, being in the public eye. You have to sacrifice a part of yourself to maintain your image.”

 

You resisted the urge to look in the direction of your husband. He remained by Phasma. Maker, it was painful for you to endure that. Your father’s words repeated themselves in your head, over and over. _Sacrifice a part of yourself_. It was not for yourself that you were concerned. You were beginning to wonder just how much Armitage had been changed due to his need to keep up outward appearances.


	23. Underestimate

Underestimate

 

At the table, Armitage was seated nearest to your father at the head of the table. You had initially started to sit across from your husband in order to have that same distance, however your father cleared his throat. He gestured with his eyes for you to place yourself on the other side of your husband. With a scowl, you obeyed. Soft chuckles would have been traded glances had you protested. Leu took the chair that you had intended to sit on. He spared you but a moment’s worth of attention prior to addressing your husband. You distracted yourself from the frustration you were beginning to feel by looking at the flowers in the vase that was nearest to you. They were the same species that you had stopped by in the garden.

 

The dishes themselves were the nicest that your family owned; more precisely, that the royal family owned. If ever your bloodline was overthrown or abdicated from the throne, these were one of the handful of possessions that would pass on to the new ruling body. Before you had left your planet, this very set had been used at your wedding. You wondered if Armitage recognized them. Phasma did not have a set in front of her, and neither did Kylo Ren. They had had the staff remove the tableware upon sitting down at the table. A refusal to remove their helmets; this you had come to expect from Captain Phasma. The chrome-armored stormtrooper was rather secretive. As for Kylo, you never knew what his motivations were. Given that he recoiled from the steaming plates of food that were being served, however, you speculated that he was feeling under the weather. Or he simply wasn’t the biggest fan of the dishes in question.

 

Armitage, all the while, was being rather successful in playing his part of ignoring you. He did shoot you looks from time to time between conversation breaks. You never could discern if his expressions were genuine or a part of the act. Some of annoyance. Others of curiosity. A handful to check what you were doing at the time. Generally you were eyeing the food that was being served, staring blankly at the flowers, or else listening in on snippets of conversation. It was all passive. There was the possibility that some were speaking in code, referring to events that were to come or had already passed by, things that would hold significance. Not paying  _ too _ much attention to these—you did not want to invent scenarios out of paranoia—allowed you time to also consider the officers and royal guards that were in the dining hall.

 

One of the guards, you noticed, repeatedly paid attention to Phasma. You wondered about his motivations, deciding that he was not someone you would risk placing your trust in. If either Phasma or Armitage decided to bring him along, you would steer clear.

 

You brought a tiny bite of food to your mouth to see if your appetite would grow once you tasted food. You also wanted to dissuade others from watching you in curiosity while they ate. Your husband glancing your way was one thing; all others left you feeling as though you were under a microscope. The bland flavor of the bite was something you enjoyed. It would sit well on your stomach, which did churn a little as your brain registered the fact that you were hungry enough for a smaller meal.

 

“Ah—perhaps a substitution for the wine?” You lowered your spoon back to the table. Heat rose into your cheeks at the increase in number of those who were staring at you. Armitage’s shoulders rose and fell in a silent, exasperated huff. His wine flute remained poised near his lips. You lifted your own, mimicking your husband as he took a drink. The woman who had spoken, a lady that was roughly twice your age, cleared her throat then gave a half-hearted laugh while apologizing for her assumption.

 

Your parents and instructors had raised you well. You flashed a quick smile and said, “No need to apologize.” A white lie, but one that helped her and several of the other guests at the table to relax. For you, the awkwardness of the moment had helped to distract from the constant paranoia that Captain Phasma would see through your act. Thus the white lie became a sort of truth as you acknowledged this, and your next smile was more genuine.

 

_ I wonder if Armitage suspects that I believe he’s ensuring I receive birth control. I’ll have to ask him when we’re alone. _

 

For the time being, you settled in your seat and took another bite. The next course of the meal would soon be served. You wanted to enjoy at least a little more of what you currently had in case the upcoming food was too rich for your stomach. Conversation around you turned once more to politics. This time you did listen; Mikthyre’s name had not failed to capture your attention. It was not the Mikthyre you so loathed. His family held more power than you remembered. Not only was the well-known Mikthyre you had referred to during the event influential; now two others had gained allies from senators or businessmen. You felt your jaw clenching when you learned that the Mikthyre you disliked—first name Levin—was also gaining popularity in several social and business circles. It was no wonder Armitage was delaying in killing the man.

 

“I believe those are some of your suppliers, are they not, General Hux?” Your husband offered a noncommittal reply that had the inquirer frowning in frustration. Armitage did not trust many, and he had no qualms with displaying that mistrust when appropriate. He had an air of  _ it’s none of your business _ , coupled with  _ how dare you speak to me _ .

 

Given that you were aware most, if not all, present would already be privy to how Levin Mikthyre had spoken to your husband, you deemed the attitude appropriate. Furthermore, you lifted your chin in a display of agitation. You caught Armitage’s eye. Neither of you smiled at the other. Even where you could show that the two of you agreed in some cases, it was not appropriate to entirely drop the act that you were displeased with your husband.

 

“That matter will be discussed when comes the time to renegotiate trade routes. It is important to remind Mikthyre who here is in charge. Setting aside any personal feelings, not one of you can deny that the open disrespect displayed by Levin to my wife and I is an insult to your entire planet.”

 

There were murmurs of agreement, and even Phasma’s helmeted head bobbed a single time in a nod. Ren crossed his arms over his chest. He bowed his head, either considering the matter or else bored and beginning to meditate. Renegotiations of trade routes could be tedious, boring work from what you could recall you had observed your father dealing with. Given the recent threat that had been posed to your planet, it only made sense that new lines would be drawn. You briefly wondered how much had been discussed when peace was in the process of being established. How many things had already been set to change while you were stowed away on the  _ Finalizer _ ? You knew that if you pressed him in private, Armitage would ensure that you were brought up to speed. It was waiting that would be an issue; sitting there at the table with snippets of the conversation going over your head due to your ignorance.

 

You hated most of all that Captain Phasma knew more about the state of things than you did. This explained how she could sit there so casually whereas you had to run through mental calculations of likely scenarios. Since Mikthyre would not be killed, or at least not any time soon, it was not farfetched to assume that he would be granted access to the trade routes, even if there was the stipulation of his ships being either taxed or limited.

 

_ He can be useful to me as well. I doubt he will be fond of Captain Phasma. He didn’t seem to like her when we were last together. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Or at least a temporary ally. I can use him. _

 

General Hux would have already come to similar conclusions. Another benefit of keeping someone who was an annoyance alive. Your husband was an excellent teacher in those regards. He also left you plenty of room to speculate and fail, to hone your own skills of playing mental chess.

 

You set down your utensils as the plates were finally cleared away. A new dish was placed before you. When the lid was lifted, you surveyed the meal. There would be less courses than you had assumed, which meant that there was little time for relaxation. The First Order had business to conduct, as did your father. Supplies, trade routes, and an official separation from the New Republic. Business conducted on your planet would be more politically involved than it had been in the past. All of this to keep the peace.

 

Orion had not held his tongue when it came to the matter of your marrying the First Order general. He had weighed the pros and cons, citing the status of other planets that did business with the growing military. Your planet would be supplying materials needed for the First Order’s impending war with the New Republic. That alone threatened to bring retaliation if ever the New Republic wished to investigate. A marriage between Armitage and you meant the actions of the First Order were sanctioned by the royal house. Changing the trade routes would have been the final straw for Orion. There would be no turning back once other planets were involved. That was what he had died for, what he would betray the crown for. He would have believed that he was doing the right thing for the people of your planet in the same way that your father believed what  _ he _ did was correct.

 

You were able to see the pros and cons of both standpoints.

 

Ultimately, though, it had been the First Order to aid your planet in its time of need. That was where your loyalty had to remain.  _ Use my enemies where possible _ . You managed to keep your eyes from darting towards Phasma as you thought these words. They did, however, flicker to Kylo Ren.  _ Play my cards right. It never hurt him to teach me that. His goals are the same as mine. It isn’t the war we are after. It’s the ending. The order that will be brought. The peace. And not some farce where the senators bicker or deem planets unworthy of having protection from pirate scum. Mikthyre will be useful. Armitage knows this. I have to accept this. _

 

It meant, too, that you had to accept the undeniable fact of Phasma’s usefulness. That she was your enemy in the end was useful in its own way. The rivalry spurred you into action. You were adamant to have people from your planet enlist in the First Order. You doubted that you would have been quite so focused on this change if not for the looming threat. You could not be lazy, could not be idle.

 

“Is the meat too rich for your stomach?” your husband inquired, drawing you from your thoughts. You looked at the untouched protein then to your vegetables. With a hum of thought, you prepared a bite of food on your fork then sampled the morsel. Another hum. You nodded, deciding that the seasoning would not mix well with the wine you had already consumed. “Perhaps you should retire to your room for rest.”

 

Judging from his tone, Armitage was wondering if distress from Orion’s death played a factor in your loss of appetite. You knew that memories of Orion did cause your stomach to churn. They were painful. Thinking of those joyous moments only to remember that you would never see him again.

 

“I’ve rested too much,” you murmured. Your husband released a  _ hmm _ , replaced his fork on the table, and reached for his wine flute. “I will be involved in renegotiating the routes. I did not receive an education on such matters out of boredom.”

 

It was your father who spoke next. He ignored the voiced irritation of the other guests. They wished to hear from General Armitage Hux, not  _ Mrs. _ Armitage Hux. You rolled your eyes, not caring if it made you appear immature or lowered their opinion of you. “She did receive high marks when studying the various cultures within our system. Consulting her would not be in poor taste.”

 

“I’ve learned to not underestimate her,” Armitage said. The man nearest to Kylo Ren, Tun Grally, grew red in the face. He was either blushing in embarrassment over having failed to welcome the idea of you assisting, or else was irritated that your father and husband both had accepted that you would be involved.

 

Conversation died away at that point. The few things said regarded the meal or the weather, which had altered since you had been outdoors. The sky had gone from being clear to housing several clouds. It was bound to rain in the upcoming eighteen hours. Your planet was not like Coruscant; there was no machine to control the weather. You had never understood why those not in the Outer Rim were obsessed with controlling the natural elements in an extreme fashion. They went on with their busy lives missing so much of the world around them.

 

Phasma would not have grown up on somewhere like Coruscant. The weather did not catch her by surprise as it had some of your planet’s visitors in the past. Armitage was irritable by the late evening. Kylo Ren and Captain Phasma had left to the rooms they had been given. Much of the initial draft for the trade route proposals were complete. It was taxing on the mind, and you had already been drained emotionally. Thinking of Phasma’s childhood only left you more tired.

 

“You should have food brought. You hardly touched your meal. Perhaps the pastry?”

 

“I don’t know,” you said, waving a hand then setting its wrist against your forehead. “If Mikthyre has a counter-proposal, it could show which of his contacts he is most concerned about. There’s also the matter of which guards should be brought aboard the  _ Finalizer _ . Seeing how Phasma interacted with them… She wanted almost nothing to do with anyone else today.”

 

“She can be charismatic when necessary. Not in a showman’s way either. It’s the way she carries herself.” It truly was. Armitage set his hand on your stomach. While you were lying on the bed, he stood beside the piece of furniture. “I wanted to approach you with the proposal of starting birth control.” You stared directly at his face. Upon entering the room, you had told him flat out that you knew he had been slipping the medication into some of your food. “Phasma can be a deadly enemy. She would use  _ your _ child against you regardless of me being the father. Our enemies would not hesitate on that front either.”

 

“You should have asked.” You were stern, unrelenting on that point. It was a violation of your freewill, what he had done. Armitage accepted this, admitting to his wrongs. “At any rate, our main concern now is ensuring there are no other major weaknesses.”

 

Your husband shifted onto the bed with you. The hand that had been on your stomach was moved onto your hip. During the meeting, you had been forced to argue several times against numerous adjustments that the others had planned to make. It would have caused your enemies to grow in number rather than limiting the movements of the ones that were currently present. You had forgotten how much people fell into the clutches of ethnocentrism. Flawed thinking. Not realizing that what one would think of as ignorable was the greatest of insults to others. You never fully understood how politicians could be so ignorant when they were skilled at using information for their own agendas.


	24. Game Board

Game Board

The emotional exhaustion over having lost Orion caused you to fall asleep for a nap almost immediately. You awoke naturally close to an hour and a half later. Unsurprisingly, Armitage had not slept. He was seated in the corner of your room with a datapad in hand. There was an assortment of texts on the ground beside his chair. You recognized the titles from your childhood. You had cited several passages from those very texts during the meeting. It was obvious that your husband would not be the only member from the meeting looking into the information you had provided. This did not insult you. You much preferred that they properly educate themselves. Time was otherwise wasted with you having to argue your point. That, too, had increased how tired you were prior to your nap.

Armitage lifted his gaze from the datapad long enough to acknowledge that you were awake. His attention then dropped to the device, although he lifted his comlink and spoke a single word that your ear did not quite catch.

You did not interrupt his work after leaving bed. Instead you unpacked a text you had brought from the _Finalizer_. This book outlined some of the basics of stormtrooper training. It was outdated from what you could tell. Pre-Phasma. That, or it belonged to whoever was in charge of training the stormtroopers prior to when they were handed over to the chrome-armored woman. Whichever the case, it was information that Phasma would possess whether she had read the text or else simply observed stormtroopers around her. You had to know your enemy more if you were to survive. Learning more of Mikthyre would be your next step, although you suspected that he would be a much easier subject. His past was hardly a mystery, which was precisely why you would prefer to have him over Phasma.

Three and a half pages into the text, there was a knock on the door. You glanced up, refraining from going to answer the door solely because your husband had already committed himself to the task. You did not wish to seem nosey. Whomever he had spoken with on the comlink would be the individual arriving. When no one entered, and the door was closed in a matter of seconds, you looked up again. There in Armitage’s hands were a drink tray and bag. Two steaming cups of what you assumed to be either caf or tea—your husband held such a fondness for tarine. As for the bag, you could smell the familiar aroma of pastries.

“I will feel better when you eat something,” he said. You marked your place in the text then set it aside. The red-haired man gestured from the floor to the bed, a question of where you would prefer to sit. You considered both options. The bed would be more comfortable, however if any fluids spilled…not that you hadn’t snuck food and beverages into your room when you had been growing up. A sad smile formed on your lips as you thought of how upset Orion had been with you when you had stolen his cup of caf only to have it spill on your bed sheets. You had been scolded doubly for that.

“The bed will do,” you said, knowing that it hurt so much less when you made new memories with your husband. Not that you were trading one love for another. That previous passing thought was laughable. You had not been the one to change your loyalties. Always to your people and your planet. Orion had always promised to serve the royal family. A traitor.

_We all do what we think is right._

You sat beside your husband, accepted the cup he handed to you, and blew on the hot surface of the liquid. Armitage placed the drink holder on the ground. His cup remained inside. You could smell the tarine tea now that you were closer to it. Your husband ignored his drink in favor of opening the bag that held the pastries. He withdrew one, wrapped in a napkin, and passed it to you. You felt a strange sort of buzzing at the base of your neck. A tingling that preceded the sensation of surrealism. He had successfully discovered which pastry you had been requesting him to bring you. The second pastry was identical. He considered it, peeked over at you, and took a small bite that you would _almost_ call a nibble. As though he did not know if he trusted it to taste good.

You smiled at that. Raising your pastry to your mouth, you took a more generous bite out of it. The flaky texture of the outside contrasted perfectly with the fluffy center. It was light and sweet, although not sickeningly sweet. Where it would compliment the cup of caf your husband had brought for you, you doubted that the same could be said of his tarine tea. That would be a clash of flavors. You wrinkled your nose at the thought in unison with the moment Armitage looked down at his beverage.

“Did you have these pastries often?” Your breath hitched. It was not often that your husband inquired about your personal interests. He was not the sentimental sort, which you had accepted more and more. It would be harder to cope with that emotional detachment in the future; you could not help but notice the way your heart fluttered at his interest in you.

You leaned in closer, your mouth near to his though with enough distance that your pastry didn’t crumble and neither did his. “No. Father never allowed it. These are usually reserved for special occasions. It makes them more special.”

“Hmm. Perhaps we should have waited to eat them then?” You shook your head, sighing at his assumption that sharing the sweet with him was not momentous enough to warrant the pastry’s consumption. “I suspect that they are not appropriate at funerals.”

You pushed back some of your hair and set the pastry onto your lap. Some of the flakes broke off onto the material of your clothing. Orion had never liked the pastry, and had once mentioned in a fleeting moment of morbidity that it would be quite ironic if his funeral guests ate some. For you, it was fitting. He was the one person you had never thought would betray the crown. With a heavy sigh, you told your husband of these things. He listened without commenting. His eyes, a fraction softer than they normally were, remained on your face as you spoke. Armitage took another bite of his food.

Pinching one of the flakes that had fallen, you no longer met his eye. “It will be a while before I eat this again. I have to take all your lessons to heart.” You tilted back your head to stare up at the ceiling. This left your neck exposed, and your husband leaned over to kiss it. Your eyelids descended, your lips parting. “I need to know my enemy, to not underestimate her. I have to stack the cards in my deck while not forgetting where her ace is— _what_ her ace is. Orion is not the only one who can be swayed. Others would abandon the crown if their views do not align with ours. They would side with Phasma.” His lips again caressed the flesh of your neck. You shuddered in delight. “I’ve started a list of my own. I won’t be soft, not to where it will cost us our planet or the First Order.”

Here he set the hand that was not holding his pastry onto your cheek and maneuvered your face so that your mouth met his. You loved the times he handled you in this manner. You felt like an empress, and it allowed you to see the bigger picture, the endgame wherein Phasma and Mikthyre had both been dealt with after their usefulness had been outlived. His hand stroked down your flesh as though was worshipping you. You raised your hand to touch the back of his, holding it over your heart.

 

“I will continue the act. When it comes time to return to the _Finalizer_ , you will then know which guards I am choosing for myself.”

 

“You plan to have it appear that you are attempting to pull rank. To use the crown to your advantage.”

 

“And you will confide in Phasma how frustrating that is, how ignorant I can be to the ways of the military.” He swiped his thumb back and forth on your chest, a sort of caress to your heart. These were the snippets you and your husband could share. Too detailed, and the reactions would not be genuine enough to trick Captain Phasma. You did not worry if Kylo Ren was able to see through your act. For whatever his reasons, he seemed to want you alive. It led you to believe that he truly was aiming to improve the galaxy. Even if he despised your husband, you could appreciate Ren’s goals. Armitage likely did as well, at least to a certain extent.

 

To play up your ignorance of military tactics too far would be foolish given the fact that you had shown a level of understanding during the meeting. There was no need to remind your husband of this. He was generally either on par with you, or else several steps ahead when it came to anticipating upcoming interactions with Phasma. The true wild card for the time being was Mikthyre.

 

Levin was the sort of scum you disliked. He came from a prominent family unlike many smugglers and pirates. He was merely a hedonist, seeking out another thrill and a way to spend money he had never had to earn. You would not have thought so poorly of him had he worried about the long term repercussions his actions had. He thought so highly of himself. The insult he had dealt to your husband surged forward in your memory.

 

“I refuse to use sex appeal when dealing with Levin Mikthyre.” Not that it should have been stated—you doubted that Armitage would have been open to the idea at all—yet the need for an emphasis on the matter had grown for you. A low rumbling from the man on your bed drew your attention. You noted the way his nose wrinkled, his upper lip curling into a snarl. His eyes were fiery and bitter cold at the same time. “He won’t give up so easily. He feels entitled.”

 

“Once the trade routes are altered, he will again attempt to woo or seduce you. ‘Stepped down from the throne’—a change in tactics on his part. We need his partners. They, like him, are interested in money. Unlike him, they don’t have a name to fall back on. They will side with the First Order. Be wary when you aim to uncover Phasma’s secrets. Not only will it place a larger target on your back, it stands the chance of dragging me along.”

 

This hardly came as a surprise. You nodded, angled your body away from Armitage, and nibbled on the edge of your pastry. There was little need to aim the figurative gun at Captain Phasma. The more her rivalry with you grew, the more it drove a wedge into the trust that General Hux offered her. You reminded yourself of his message. A time and a place to deal with one’s enemy. As much as you wanted Phasma destroyed first, you came to realize that Mikthyre _was_ the target that would be dealt with sooner. He was an easy target, though, and you could not blind yourself by limiting your actions.

 

You likewise had to ensure that you did not spread yourself too thin by taking an excess number of steps to simultaneously further multiple plans. Jumping too far would allow your enemies to find means of countering your future attacks. This allowed you some leisure time, which you spent with your family. Armitage concerned himself with the politics of your planet, your father occasionally parting from you long enough to bring the First Order general up to speed. You attended a handful of those gatherings to offer input, however for the most part you remained away. While Phasma knew that you were adept at discussing the cultures of your neighboring planets, she did not know the full extent of your capabilities. There was no way you were going to showcase them.

 

The physical distance between your husband and you aided you in putting up that front. You called to mind the hurt you had experienced when you had learned that he had attempted to have you killed for political gain. The spikes of anger and unprovoked agitation had Phasma remaining closer to Hux’s side by the middle of the next day. As though no distance had come between them—as though _you_ hadn’t divided the red head’s loyalties.

 

By the time you uttered the words _You are mistaken. These five will be joining me on the_ Finalizer _. Clearly your officers and stormtroopers are not sufficient enough to protect me. I nearly died—or have you forgotten?_ Phasma was practically glued to your husband’s side. You knew that she whispered words of poison into his ear. What you had to endure was him responding in kind. Armitage glowered at you while observing the aforementioned five royal guards boarding one of the transport shuttles that would take you to the Star Destroyer. You ignored the glare to instead check which individuals he had chosen, and which had been selected by Captain Phasma.

 

Your father was at your side. He had stiffened when you had addressed your husband in the semi-hostile manner. “Remember what I have told you,” he whispered, his voice low enough that only you could hear him. “This marriage helps to keep our planet safe. The public is watching you. I know I ask much of you, I ask you to sacrifice parts of yourself, but it is your duty.”

 

“I have not forgotten, father,” you said. You twisted around to meet his gaze. He looked so much older in that moment than he had ever before. It stung, all the more when you took into consideration that you would not see him for quite some time again. You encircled his torso with your arms, your hands pressed against his back and pulling him closer to you. Your father did not hesitate in returning the hug. “I remember everything you have told me. Right now, it is time that you trust my judgment.”

 

He knew to some extent the sacrifice you would have to make. He, after all, had had to sacrifice his daughter—you—to appease the public eye and remain true to his oath as the planet’s ruler. Your father would also have to know, some way and some how, that there were pieces of information he did not have. It was not blind trust that you asked of him. He clutched your hand, refusing to release it until the last possible moment. You did not look back to see the dismay on his face. Instead you stared directly ahead of yourself. It was not Captain Phasma you feared seeing emotion surge into your features. It was Armitage, the man who admitted his love for you. You did not know if it would break his resolve, and you did not wish for him to blame himself for any discomfort you had to endure.

 

Captain Phasma and General Hux of the First Order did not join you on the transport shuttle. _Mrs. Armitage Hux_ was a name, a statement that you were somehow Armtige’s property. A stepping stone. A body to warm his bed. You closed your eyes and breathed through the thoughts of those lies. They were ones that you would hear when you confronted Mikthyre. Phasma would say them to hurt you.

 

Opening your eyes when the transport shuttle left the atmosphere of your planet, you looked at each of the guards you had brought with you. Two females and three male; one had shown unmasked contempt for the chrome-armored stormtrooper after observing how she treated you.

 

“It is important that each of you studies First Order regulations. I will not have any of you be forced to leave for petty reasons.” Murmurs of agreement, and not a hint of disappointment from any. They took their jobs seriously, as did the individuals that your husband had hand picked.

 

 _The stage is set for Phasma’s downfall,_ you thought. _Now to handle Levin Mikthyre._


	25. Doubt

Doubt

Two of the royal guards that you had hand selected remained by your side—hands on their blasters, neither afraid to display how committed to their jobs that they were—as you disembarked from the transport shuttle and joined Levin Mikthyre on the craft. It was sleek, expensive. You could practically hear Phasma assessing its worth in terms of military might and price from where she walked behind you. She could easily overpower your guards if she wished. It was her strength that had prompted Armitage to send her along when she had requested to join you in meeting Mikthyre. You had been reluctant to agree with your husband on this matter; it was the perfect opportunity for her to act and pin your death on Mikthyre. What had swayed you had been the actions of Captain Phasma herself. 

 

She had proven what sort of opportunistic tendencies she held by approaching you under the guise of a sympathetic, female ear. Telling you how she had not realized how much of  _ your _ brattiness was in response to the brutish behavior Hux dealt your way. The skewed views of your planet’s patriarchy forcing you into submission to the point you revolted. She wished to be your teacher now that she had properly observed the disconnection between you and your husband. It would better the First Order—your planet could prove useful, which she had come to realize after having visited it and brought new stormtroopers along with. Captain Phasma was far more deadly than Mikthyre; and it was that deadliness that had you glad she was, albeit temporarily and under a facade, on your side as a defender. Taking out Mikthyre would serve her goals. That is how you knew that neither you nor your royal guards were to presently view her as an immediate threat.

 

Levin was the individual they were to keep an eye on. His arrogance presented itself when he touched your lower back with the very tips of his fingers, the man attempting to steer you forward. The royal guard on your left shifted rightwards, prompting Mikthyre to allow his arm to drop, his wrist no doubt an uncomfortable angle. You refrained from commenting. While you refused to use sex appeal to expedite Mikthyre’s fall, you were plenty willing to allow him to dig his own grave. You were familiar enough with Phasma’s looks of distaste to know that she was eyeing your host as though he were a bug on which she would soon tread. You, meanwhile, were undecided if this trip would culminate in the man’s immediate demise.

 

“Refrain from physical contact with the princess,” your other guard said, his voice laced with vehemence. Levin threw a casual, bored glance over his shoulder at the man who had addressed him then inspected the side of your face. You could nearly feel both of your guards seething, meanwhile Captain Phasma had dropped back three paces. Allowing room for error was one way to ensnare your enemy. More than that, the distance offered her better aim with the weapon she had brought along.

 

Mikthyre leaned in as though the pair of you were fellow conspirators. “You truly did step down from the throne, and your husband is about to snatch it away entirely. Altering the trade routes… I know that you played a hand, doing what damage control was possible before he silenced you. He doesn’t allow you to have any fun, does he?” The light pressure from his fingers began to trail down towards your hip, the digits leaving your body before he could press  _ too _ many boundaries.

 

You flexed your wrist, the action observed by Mikthyre just as it was by your two guards, whom it had been intended for. They altered their stances. Still protecting you, albeit with less hostile attitudes towards Levin. He grinned wryly. You did not dissuade him from believing the lie you and your husband had worked so hard to perpetuate. Even if he  _ was _ to die soon, Phasma would learn the truth if you were not careful. A constant game of holochess, anticipating the moves of the other side, of  _ all _ pawns. You kept your word to Armitage; there was no batting your eyelashes, nor smiling at him in return. You did not frown either.

 

“I do what I can to perform my duties as princess,” you said prior to returning your gaze to the ground in front of you. The vessel was lavishly decorated. It was not a battle cruiser, but more of a pleasure yacht. Which meant that the surrounding ships acted as protection just as Captain Phasma had speculated when you had dropped out of hyperspace at the meeting point.

 

Mikthyre’s smile took on a hint of sympathy, as though you were ignorant and he felt sorry for you. “I assume there are occasions when he is kind to you...when he wants something from you.” His eyes flicked to your lap then back to your face. “Everyone loves power, princess, yet some are more vehement in their pursuit. You and I—we would have been equals. Instead you are tied down to a man who does not trust you, who would throw your life away in an instant. He’s even sent his dog along with you. To act as your guard, perhaps. But also to track every one of your movements. If you fell out of line, do you think General Hux would keep you alive? He is ruthless.”

 

Mental warfare was something that Levin Mikthyre appeared to excel in. You quickly understood how it was that he had gathered his allies. The lingering doubt that you had told yourself on many occasions you had given up...doubt that your husband cared for you. It all showed itself again. A thought nudging at you, that Phasma would point her blaster at the back of your head. Your guards would be unable to save you. And, worse yet, if they were loyal to the crown that meant their loyalty to your husband would trump all else. Even your life would be less than his. You nearly swayed where you stood, however managed to keep your steps level.

 

Was love enough to stay your husband’s sword? Or would he pierce through you. A stepping stone to becoming emperor. His empress. A symbol. Sacrificing your life here, having it appear that Mikthyre was the one to kill you, and using your death to further unite the First Order and your planet.  _ What was an emperor without his empress? _ He would not be without you entirely. You would be the weapon that won him the war. And he  _ would _ love you for that. Truly love you.

 

Chess was much harder to play without a queen to take care of the pawns. All eyes fixated on the king, trying to tear him down. You wondered if Mikthyre understood this as well as your husband did. Armitage played a game wherein eyes shifted to the queen. He could command the pawns on his side of the board while you held the attention of his enemies, blocking him from them. Sacrificing you would be foolish. It would end his game prematurely with him as the loser. Armitage did what he could to aid you in understanding these facts so that you would not be susceptible to sweet words like the ones Levin used. Seeds of doubt perished in your mind.

 

“Your allies do not seem to hold your sense of loyalty,” you said, looking away from your host to consider works of art that were displayed in the room you had entered. The two royal guards were three steps behind you, Phasma only two.

 

_ The enemy of my enemy is my friend. _

 

Mikthyre was an enemy of the First Order though he did what he could to keep up the pretense he was harmless. His allies would not wish to engage in battle with the First Order, yet that did not mean they would leave him. His name had power. Levin used his family’s position for personal gain, and those loyal to him reaped some of the benefits. They were what Captain Phasma was to the First Order. Loyal though ultimately self-serving. The majority had deals in place with Mikthyre and the First Order both to ensure they were allowed to use the trade routes that had been altered. Others had no need to interact with your planet for such purposes. That was precisely why meeting with Levin here held a higher level of danger for you. The owner of the vessel would not interfere if Mikthyre somehow gained the upper hand. As for Phasma...she was not hiding her distaste for Levin. She thought him weak. Arrogant. You had survived when Hux had attempted to have you killed; for what it was worth, that set you on a higher level of the food chain in Phasma’s book when she compared you with Levin.

 

Said man released a small noise of thought as he considered your words. He lifted a hand. The dismissive wave almost had you rolling your eyes. To think that you had once considered having him outlive Phasma. Mikthyre was arrogant and self-assured. Thus his next words surprised you. “I trust them with my money, not my life. If there is a higher bidder, that is where their loyalty goes. It’s mostly a fun game. I won’t feel any loss if they leave. They’ll miss my credits.”

 

This time you did pinch your lips into a thin line. It took much of your willpower to not look over your shoulder at Phasma. Two peas in a pod. Although you doubted that Phasma cared anything at all for credits, whereas it was very clear Levin believed money was the ruler of all things. There were many who would agree with him. You pitied those who put a price on life. It cheapened everything, the best experiences losing value. Which was almost ironic; the way so many in the universe spoke of peacetime, of the freedom it provided. The joys. All of that so easily forgotten when you handed someone a stack of credits.

 

That was one way that your husband had initially misunderstood and underestimated you. To think that you, because you had been born into royalty and money, focused only on materialistic things. He had never considered—or if he had, it had been dismissed immediately—that you had studied people themselves, that you had taught yourself how to appreciate life all around you. That appreciation had lended itself well when you had been in peril. Tiny creatures hiding from predators in the same manner you had hid yourself from your hunter. Those lessons had been free, asking only for time.

 

You broke away from Levin’s company to inspect a piece of art that was proudly displayed in a glass case upon the wall. You recognized it as having come from your planet. An original no less. The two guards accompanying you moved so that they were again on either side. Levin, meanwhile, strolled up behind you and began to speak about how he had come across the piece. You did not listen to his words. They mattered little given the fact that the piece now belonged to another; the owner of the ship you were on. The owner obviously appreciated the piece, which was quite endearing since it depicted a local holiday that was unique to your planet. Endearing...and useful.

 

Captain Phasma remained apart from you. She had no interest in the piece, the woman likely ignorant of its importance. That was just as well. You much preferred that she did not catch the momentary lapse of control you had had on your facial features upon seeing the art. The holiday depicted did not have religious origins, nor were they explicitly political. Unlike Phasma, your guards  _ were _ familiar with all of this. Their stances became lax for half a beat prior to them remembering their duties. Your lips tugged at the corners at this.

 

“It seems I have plenty in common with our host,” you said, turning your head to meet Mikthyre’s eye. His grin was tense, softening slightly when you smiled at him. “I am grateful that you had the forethought to ensure he was involved in our meeting. You seem to take my feelings into consideration.”

 

“I always have.”

 

_ I’ll just bet, _ you thought sarcastically, meanwhile you had perfect control of your expressions and limbs. Nothing that would encourage hesitation from Levin, who stepped nearer to you once more. He lifted his arm from his side, his hand shifting closer to your face without making contact, and sighed whilst dropping his stare to the floor.  _ Is this an act on your part, Levin; or is there a piece to this puzzle I am missing? _

 

The royal guard on your left toyed with his weapon simultaneous to stepping towards the right. This action brought him closer to Phasma while also blocking you from her. The chrome armored woman stared at your guard through that dark visor. You wondered what expression she wore. Was it similar to the look of conflict that had turned Mikthyre’s face into a battlefield? Whatever mental war he was suffering, you knew that its outcome would determine which move you made next.

 

“How the trade routes have been negotiated...that outcome has left us at odds.” You had known that eventually the pair of you would come to this subject. Armitage had set the stage, placing Mikthyre in something of a bind. There should have been more foreplay before delving into business. Flirtation, buttering you up—not how it had happened. You turned away from the man with a heavy sigh that rocked your shoulders. It was unbecoming of a princess, or at least that had always been the scolding you had received when younger. Without taking a step forward, Levin reached for you with a hand. The guard nearest to you intercepted him before contact could be made. It was a quick brush of limbs that did not result in a smacking sound. You pushed forward to meet Mikthyre halfway; there was an urge to hear what he had to say to you.

 

Captain Phasma altered how she was standing. Her body was perfectly angled for a sudden lunge or even to fire her blaster. Mikthyre noticed her actions as well. He took a step back in retreat, which caused you to frown. “Have you forgotten that she is a married woman?” Phasma shot, her voice level, almost robotic. It sounded bored.

 

Rather than shrink away, Mikthyre was encouraged by her words. “I may play with money in ways that you disagree, however your husband is the one who plays with lives.” His eyes ran up and down the length of your body. It was similar to how he had leered at you at the party, although now it was less sexual and more, in a way, scientific. As though he were attempting to find out what sort of species you were, or what kind of...pawn.

 

You inhaled sharply at that. The realization that he somehow knew your husband had attempted to have you killed unnerved you. That was not a secret Armitage would want out. It was not information that  _ you _ wanted in circulation. Captain Phasma’s hand twitched. She wanted to kill Mikthyre where he stood. Loose ends, you thought. The First Order had not correctly tied up theirs when it came to your attempted murder. Whomever it was they had hired, that individual had had contact with Mikthyre. Money talked, or at least it caused loose lips to slip information into willing ears. Armitage and Phasma were aware of this. How long had they known? It was a question that caused you to feel uneasy. Secrets hidden from you by your husband.

 

_ Loose lips sink starships _ was a line of propaganda from a time when the Empire existed. You did not know if it was something Captain Phasma had ever heard, however it became clear to you that she abided by it regardless. Her blaster was pointed at Mikthyre’s head. Your two guards grabbed either of your arms, tugging you backwards. You yanked out of their grasp. Rather than shoot you to kill two birds with one shot as you had half expected Phasma to, the woman lowered her weapon and spoke to you.

 

“Levin is attempting to sway your loyalties. He has the proper weapons,” she said. Words. Words were excellent weapons. “He knows that his time is up. Betraying General Hux now would be in poor taste.”

 

You did not miss the subtle emphasis on the word  _ now _ from her. She genuinely believed in the lie that you and Armitage had nursed and spread. Her interest in coming along, as well as Armitage permitting it, had to do with whatever long term plans each had. Captain Phasma was self-serving, but so was Mikthyre. So long as you learned the truth, you were willing to listen. You held up a hand to your guards. They froze in their place. As for whether they were under orders from Armitage or acting to protect you out of loyalty to you, you did not know. That was another thing you would have to learn for yourself as time went on. Phasma had not removed her finger from the blaster’s trigger. She leveled the blaster anew, taking aim at Levin’s head.

 

“Do not shoot him,” you said calmly. It surprised you how much you were able to keep yourself under control. It also showed you just how much you had changed since your marriage. “I deserve to hear what he has to say.” She had no argument for that even though you suspected she was annoyed. You ignored this in favor of looking at Levin. Mikthyre was visibly sweating. He was also probably trying to find a way to survive. Perhaps guessing how many of his allies aboard the vessel would defend him, or if they were ordered only to retaliate  _ after _ his demise. “I believe you can now tell I did not marry down.”

 

“So I see,” Levin said, gulping directly after he spoke. His eyes darted to you only briefly before he looked once more at the barrel of Phasma’s weapon. “Regardless, it’s turned you into a pawn.”

 

_ What do you think you are? _ you thought bitterly.

 

Mikthyre gestured to the piece of art that had caught your eye. “It’s almost ironic. Mercenaries and pirates only care so much for those who govern their homeplanet.”

 

It felt as though you were suddenly spinning. The sense of vertigo assaulted you strongly enough to where you stumbled backwards a few steps before the royal guards once more grabbed your upper arms. Your stomach then churned. Your throat was burning, though you could not tell if it was from vomit or a need to scream your frustrations. Again you could not help but wonder if Armitage had known. If he was continuing to use you as nothing more than a pawn. Had all of this been a part of the game he was playing? Was his empress—were  _ you _ —expendable to him? This vessel belonged to the one he had hired to kill you.

 

It made all the more sense, the ships placed in position to defend this craft. It was not only to protect Mikthyre as the man had undoubtedly hired them to do. It was to protect their owner. This was not new information for Captain Phasma. Your royal guards maintained neutral expressions, which had you wondering if you were the only one out of the loop.

 

Being loyal to the crown was protecting Armitage Hux, not you.

 

Both you and Levin were at a disadvantage when set against your husband. The difference between you and Mikthyre was that you had made it out alive when Armitage had aimed to have you killed. Levin would not; for him to reveal what he knew...that information was enough to sign his death warrant.

 

_ Is this one of the things Armitage warned me about? While opposing Phasma I will learn things that could bury him as well. And he could have told me at any time. He knew what I was walking into with this. Is it an attempt to keep Phasma from knowing how close we’ve grown? Or am I the fool? _

 

Your body felt as though it was on fire with how intense your frustration and anger had grown. You found yourself pitying Levin as well as envying him. Death meant that he would not longer have to worry about political schemes such as the ones you seemed to be falling into. The war games.

 

The sound of Captain Phasma’s blaster going off hardly had any impact on you. You startled a little, jerking backwards a pinch and blinking. Otherwise, you remained where you were, your arms still secured by the two royal guards who had accompanied you.

 

“None of this will be traced back to the First Order,” Phasma said coolly. Death did not unnerve her. She was cold, perhaps more immune to empathy and compassion than your husband. “If you’re as soft as you’ve seemed in the past, you can take the art piece back with us.”

 

A test. A jab at your pride. A cruel reminder that you were not in control of this situation. And that you were constantly watched by your enemies.

 

“Let it burn with the rest of the ship.” You knew from her words that your host and all their ships would be destroyed. If it was not to be traced back to the First Order, it meant that they had hired someone else to do their dirty work. Or it could be the mysterious Knights of Ren that you had heard about. That seemed more likely, as it eliminated a set timetable.

 

You looked down at Levin Mikthyre’s body and pictured yourself in his place. You had been, save for the dying part. Was that in your future?

 

This was a system the First Order had not fully explored. The nearest planet was constantly visited by space pirates, smugglers, and mercenaries. Some more welcome than others. They would believe some sort of skirmish had taken place. You doubted they would investigate. As for Mikthyre, he would not have told anyone he was meeting with a married woman, nor would he have been open about his plans to renegotiate the trade routes. That would have alerted all who would oppose him. His death would possibly remain a mystery. For many, they would believe he had simply disappeared. There would be no confirmation.

 

Captain Phasma walked towards you, and you lifted your gaze to her visor. You wished that you were able to look her in the eye without that damned mask. You wanted to see her for what and who she truly was.

 

She holstered her blaster and informed you that she would deal with other matters while you returned to the transport shuttle. It was not a suggestion. Not some request. She was ordering you.

 

You felt a mild sense of relief when your guards turned to you for input after the chrome armored woman had left. They were intelligent to not speak any words of doubt or contradiction in Phasma’s presence. She would not hesitate to kill them. You were grateful for their actions, too, as it offered you a semblance of comfort. They were yours, not Phasma’s. You wanted to test whether that remained true though. That they were yours and not Armitage’s.

 

“It is important to keep the crown safe,” you whispered.

 

Both crossed an arm over their chest and gave a small bow. It was not  _ princess _ that they called you. They did not call you anything directly. In unison they said: “We are with the crown.” A double meaning. Not only a declaration of loyalty based, but also of where they stood physically. You were the crown to them.

 

_ I chose well _ , you thought as you nodded. The two guards were once more on either side of you as you began to walk in the direction of the exit.  _ You don’t want me as your enemy, Armitage. You’ve said as much. Let’s see if you lied. If you underestimated me again, I will kill you. _

 

Though the king was protected in chess, though it was game over if he perished, the queen held more power and better moves. You would easily end his game. If he was your enemy, he was not  _ your _ king—and that was truly what made all the difference. His words had been correct. What was an emperor without his empress?

 

_ Dead _ .


	26. Empress

Empress

 

You mentally replayed Mikthyre’s death in slow motion while you boarded the transport shuttle. Captain Phasma could have killed the man at any time. The plan had clearly been in motion. This meant that she—and perhaps your husband as well—had wished to know precisely how much information Levin held. It did make sense in terms of tying up all loose ends. You had been under the impression that Levin had sat on the information rather than bringing in an ally who could spread it. If he had, he may have survived long enough to be tortured for that name. Armitage had once toyed with you, playing and backing you into corners to see how you would react, to see whether or not you would reveal that you had known he was behind the attempt on your life. It was a small comfort that you had your royal guards at your side now. There would be no repetition of past events. You were not alone as you had been, not in a position of isolation. There would be too many questions involved if your royal guards perished alongside you. A formal investigation by your planet. Your father would not stand for it.

 

Another difference, one that was perhaps far more important than anything else, was that you were willing to kill for your planet. You had always believed that you were ready to fight for it. Now you could take the battle to the next level.

 

That hardly lessened the blow. You felt a dull ache in your heart. As much as you tried to, you could not completely erase your emotions. The developing feelings you had for Armitage had you maintaining hope that he had not betrayed you. Captain Phasma was ever watching, always observing you. If your reactions to the information Mikthyre had held had been anything less than genuine, there existed the possibility that she would have killed you as well. It was the perfect playing field for Phasma. That had to be why she had wanted to be there. Judge how good of an ally you would be for her. She was willing to betray Armitage. You were sure she would betray  _ you _ much more quickly.

 

You could hear the dog fights begin. Those responsible for destroying the small fleet of ships had arrived. You quickened your pace. Captain Phasma did so as well. She bypassed you, and you inwardly snorted. Her sense of self-preservation shouldn’t surprise you. Your guards grumbled, one of them pushing against your back to hurry you along. You did not chastise the man. He would not leave you behind, but he refused to allow you to slow him down. He was able to look after himself while also doing his job; in your opinion, he was a better person than Phasma.

 

The doors to the transport shuttle had barely finished closing when Phasma ordered the pilot to take off. The female at the controls did not look back to see if anyone aside from the chrome armored woman had boarded. You quirked a brow then relaxed your facial features as best you could before she turned around. Everyone took their seats. You looked out the viewport at the ships. None were First Order. Or else they were disguised. You were again assuming that the Knights of Ren were inside of those vessels. One of your ally ships moved in front of the transport shuttle, its deflector shields taking the damage of the blast from an enemy ship. With precision, the pilot fired in retaliation. Another ship down. More enemies dead. Two more blasts. Fire blossomed in portions of the ship you had just left, the vessel that contained Levin Mikthyre’s body.

 

You moved to stand and stare at the sight in awe. Both of your guards caught you. They secured your safety belt mere seconds before the transport jumped into hyperspace. Whatever you had wished to see, it was gone now. There was no turning back. You could only move forward; the only way to do so was to confront Armitage. This would not occur where Captain Phasma was able to see. Nor any other eyes.

 

The two royal guards that had remained by your side throughout your travels were displeased when you dismissed them in order to spend time behind closed doors with your husband. They no longer trusted him. It was in their expressions and body language. General Armitage Hux stared at them until the door blocked them from one another. You had been the first one to enter the private quarters you shared with the redhead. Though you did not know where you stood with him, you felt at ease. Your allies would not leave you despite that you had dismissed them. It was not entirely pleasant to know that their ears would catch the ongoings of the room. Not the verbal spar that was to come, nor the possible argument.

 

Armitage crossed his arms behind his back while heaving a sigh. You had already started to strip out of the clothes you had worn to your meeting with Levin. It felt wrong to keep them. You would have them destroyed. They would burn just as the piece of art from your planet had burned. “Were those the Knights of Ren?” you asked as you bent over to unstrap your shoe. Without turning around, he answered you in the positive. You gave a nod though you knew that he would not see it. When you did not say anything further, he at last twisted around and looked at you. You stood up straight. The last of your clothing fell to the floor, pooling at your feet until you stepped over the material. Armitage’s eyes wandered along your body. That was a sign he was comfortable, you noted. You did not know if that was a good thing yet or not.

 

His arms crossed behind his back as they had been for the past several minutes, Armitage began to move nearer to you. If you had to give it a label, you would have described his movements as sauntering. His chin was held high, though not enough to where he would be looking down his nose at you. Armitage paused only when he was a mere two inches away from you. Neither of you smiled.

 

“Are we playing the same game as before?” he asked. His voice was soft yet guarded. You lowered your gaze from his to look instead at his throat, which undulated as he swallowed. “No.” You almost did not hear the syllable. He said it in a whisper, and more to himself than to you. He was the one scrambling to find his footing here, not you. That was how this situation was different than the last. “You are not pretending you don’t know. I take it Mikthyre revealed—”

 

“Stop talking,” you said. Your words were spoken gently, however they had the power to silence him. His jaw slammed closed, and he recoiled. Armitage’s feelings for you  _ were _ real. He would not be reacting this way if they weren’t, you told yourself.

 

_ That does not mean he doesn’t view you as being expendable. _

 

Your husband was ruthless. How many times had you repeated this to yourself?

 

That ruthless man sank down onto his knees before you and raised his arms—his hands trembling—to hold onto your hips. “I did not learn of their origins until after they failed to kill you. I had thought them from a neighboring planet.” These words could have been rehearsed. It was difficult for you to read his face even when it wasn’t bowed. “They had changed their name. I hardly cared. The plan had been to eliminate them once they were no longer useful.”

 

You tilted back your head to stare up at the ceiling. His lips ghosted over your thighs. You placed one hand against the back of his head and stroked your fingers through his hair.

 

“Phasma knew.”

 

“Yes,” he conceded. “She was in charge of putting the hit on your head.” She had chosen. She had known. “It is not time to—”

 

“Armitage, I want her dead,” you said. Again your voice was level, not betraying your anger and frustration. Your husband sighed. “You don’t get to continue playing both fields. You choose now. Whose king are you? Are you truly  _ my _ emperor?”

 

Those normally ice blue eyes were as water as they turned up to your face. You peered into their depths, seeing the man drowning behind them. This time you sighed, and you knelt on the floor with him. You tilted your head to the side, leaned closer, and kissed the corner of his mouth. His breath tickled the flesh of your cheek as you placed a soft kiss nearer to his chin. You could feel it in your hair when your lips were on his throat. That kiss was longer. You kept your lips pressed to him, feeling the pulsing of his heart through the contact. It stuttered, and he shuddered. His arms wrapped around you. Armitage had you pressed against the floor the next moment. You let him, not fighting him as he extended your arms above your head, your wrists touching.

 

The leather of his gloves was cool. It had goosebumps pimpling along your body. Your leg twitched. “I will find a way,” he murmured. The very tips of his ten fingers were touching you, his palms hovering just above your skin. “Give me a little time to alter arrangements.” You wanted to believe him, to accept his words as he spoke them. But you did not.

 

You closed your eyes instead of staring up at the emptiness of the ceiling. The gentleness of his touches continued, soon contrasted with his hot mouth sealing over your breast. You curled your toes, bending your knees a fraction as you arched your back. Tilting back your head, you squeezed your eyes more tightly. At the right angle, you could snap his neck if you had to. It felt as though all air had swelled into a sphere around your heart. You could not breathe around the sob. Nor could you allow it to be heard.

 

Armitage said your name, and your upper lip curled. You grit your teeth and spoke to him the truth both of you already knew. “I can’t trust you.”

 

His movements became more frantic. You listened to him stripping without opening your eyes. He settled between your legs and you wound your limbs about him. Legs hugging his hips. Arms around his neck, your hands clutching his shoulders. Rather than attempt to penetrate you, your husband curled his body with yours.

 

“Phasma is more deadly than the Resistance,” he said. You nodded. No matter the outcome of this—whether you and Armitage learned to trust one another, or you had to take drastic measures—you knew that this, the words he had just spoken, were a fact. “She was always a wild card in my plans. I knew that one day I would have to eliminate her, or else she would do the same to me. I did not have a way until you became my ally.”

 

“Pretty words,” you spat, blinking open your eyes to stare at the crevice of his neck. Armitage hugged you more tightly against himself. These were words that would not be safe even with your royal guards. The two of you needed this privacy, but at the same time you did not trust your husband enough to want the pair to abandon their posts. “I cannot be used as a pawn. I need to show my power. I need others quaking where they stand so that they are afraid to attack me. Only then can I properly trust you, can I protect you.”

 

You unwound your arms and cupped his face, tilting his head and yours to where you locked gazes. He gave a subtle nod, one that you nearly missed. Shifting, the man above you at last entered you, your bodies beginning to move as one. You relinquished your hold on his face to stretch your arms once more above your head. Armitage nibbled along your collarbone. You felt your inner walls clench, heat surging through your body. He was holding onto your hips, rocking you forward with every thrust.

 

These were the sounds you had been hesitant to have your guards hear. Your soft sighs, your moans of pleasure, and you panting out your husband’s name.

 

“You are my empress,” Armitage said, setting his forehead against yours after another kiss. You ran your tongue along your lips. “Phasma is her own emperor and empress.” You could understand that. “You will have power.”

 

You rolled the two of you over, Armitage underneath you as you straddled him. “How can I trust you?”

 

“You will. For Mikthyre...Phasma would have killed you. And if I had not allowed her to go, she would have become suspicious.” He shook his head. “I won’t keep anything more from you.” There was a brief moment of silence. “Brendol Hux is dead.” You swallowed thickly, waiting for him to say more. “Phasma and I eliminated him.”

 

“She would kill me if she knew I had this information?”

 

“You will have all the power you need to ensure that that does not occur. Unlike my father, you have my loyalty.” Armitage sat up, adjusting how you were sitting as well to ensure that you would both be comfortable. “I used you as a pawn to kill Levin Mikthyre. Now you can use me as one to kill Phasma.” You blinked, nodded, and leaned in for a kiss, which he immediately reciprocated.


	27. Pieces

Pieces

 

Change was a peculiar thing; it could be immediate or slow paced. No matter the case, it was a constant. Transition periods tested patience as well as the strength and endurance of a person. Your husband thrived in the face of the challenges that met him as he began to put new plans into motion. Officers were reassigned to different starships, several new faces—new to you, although quite familiar to Armitage—arrived, and one of the potential stormtrooper Captain Phasma had chosen from your home planet had suddenly disappeared. Of the final change, you could not say for certain if it had been a move on your husband’s part, or if the chrome armored female had found the individual lacking. Both were ruthless. It came as no surprise to you that this was a trait  _ you _ were beginning to take on.

 

To improve your standing in this game of war and politics, you had gratefully accepted texts and footage from Armitage on how the First Order was run. Much of these were not available to most officers, which proved to you that your husband was genuine in earning your trust. Unfortunately, it also allowed you to see where Captain Phasma was useful for at least a little while longer until one of your husband’s pet projects was closer to being completed. You had hardly been in a position of enough power to see to it that Phasma could be successfully eliminated without her death tying back to your husband. Knowing that they were in a sense equally involved in Brendol Hux’s death, that was nothing you could use against her.

 

Armitage had officers who carried out his orders without question. Some of them had committed murder, and they held their tongues for fear or death either due to their actions or else because Armitage would bury them himself. You did not delude yourself into believing that Captain Phasma would not have similar pawns. They would know less about her than Armitage’s peons knew about him. You had to play your cards close to your chest until you learned to read the signs in uncovering which stormtroopers and officers were loyal to a fault when it came to Phasma. Thus watching video footage on training exercises allowed you to learn both battle tactics and how to read the body language of stormtroopers. Their armor concealed more than you liked.

 

A second cumbersome task you faced was maintaining the facade that you and Armitage had a strained relationship. While the pair of you agreed that there should be some public rekindling in order to dissuade Captain Phasma from growing suspicious of moments where the two of you had no choice but to be civil, the act lulled her into a false sense of security wherein she revealed part of her hand. She did what she could to play the two of you off one another. More than once, you initially failed and fell into the trap. As with the incident of Mikthyre’s death, you became distrusting of your husband for lengths of time.

 

Frustrating as that was, Armitage had dealt with your mistrust in a manner that you hated at the time, but appreciated in the long run. He had sent you to a different Star Destroyer. This had forced you to interact with other officers as well as ensure the royal guards accompanying you learn to better cooperate with the First Order. Not being a victim to tunnel vision, you eventually allowed your anger to abate, mistrust to diminish, and your knowledge of military tactics to expand. Stormtroopers, you learned, began their training with an instructor other than Phasma. Though they were later influenced by her techniques, uncovering their starting point would assist you in better reading their body language.

 

Their instructors were well versed in what to watch out for. Some stormtroopers were sent to reconditioning if and when they displayed signs of disloyalty or hesitation. Unlike Captain Phasma, these instructors did not mind at all sharing the information with you, the tells. One individual in particular failed at hiding his distaste from Captain Phasma the more you spoke with him. You enjoyed listening to Cardinal speak. Though you did not reveal your own disgust with the woman, he appeared to sense that the pair of you shared similar thoughts when it came to the chrome armored woman. One large difference, however, was the fact that Cardinal held Brendol Hux in high regard. He had mixed feelings when it came to your husband. This had led to him initially speaking to you only in clipped sentences.

 

As you boarded the  _ Absolution _ for the fifth time in a three month span, you found yourself offering Cardinal a smile. The red armored stormtrooper was waiting for you to arrive. The four royal guards accompanying you did not shield you from him as they had during your departure from the  _ Finalizer _ . Phasma had been present then, and the more public rekindling of your relationship with Armitage had resulted in her verbally remonstrating you on more than a single occasion. As though she wanted you to learn your place, to offer more seeds of doubt since the others had failed to flourish. There was none of that with Cardinal. He separated his relationships with Captain Phasma and General Hux with the one he had with you.

 

_ So long as he does not drag Armitage down with him, I think he will be a valuable tool in destroying Phasma. _

 

The constant scheming was tiresome, you had to admit. You shoved aside such thoughts. “Has Armitage arrived?” you asked. Cardinal offered a single nod in response. “I heard the report that some of the ships have been delayed in arriving. Given the commotion, I knew it was either my husband or else Kylo Ren.”

 

“That is correct,” Cardinal said, moving into position at your side so that the two of you could converse while you walked. Your royal guards shifted aside enough to allow for this close proximity. You were not the only one from your planet to have been observing the stormtroopers. They were as well versed in body language as you now were. This improvement had resulted in you informing your husband that you wanted the soldiers from your planet to be taught sme of the methods utilized by the First Order. “General Hux is resting in his...your quarters.”

 

Those quarters had once been utilized by Brendol Hux. Your husband had told you how he had changed the furniture following his father’s demise. You momentarily wondered which style Cardinal preferred, or if he had been inside the quarters at all. You were not interested enough to ask, knowing it would open a whole can of worms, or at least an assortment of stories starring one Brendol Hux.

 

“It is my understanding that you helped to influence the training regime sent to my future royal guards,” you stated conversationally. Cardinal made a low noise in his throat signalling acknowledgment. “I was allowed to view the footage prior to it being sent to the facilities. I had not realized at that time who had a hand in contributing. I owe you my gratitude.”

 

He stood straighter at that, the man accepting your praise with grace and a hint of modesty as he informed you that he was only doing what had been asked of him. He did not fully understand the role he was playing in ensuring you grew in power. Without his assistance, it would have taken that much longer to come to the point you were presently at. Not quite ready to have your husband eliminate Captain Phasma, however nearly there. The project known as Starkiller Base would be fully functioning, and the army of stormtroopers was seeing new waves of trainees ready to become full-fledged soldiers. Most did admire Phasma, however you knew that they could easily become jaded if they began to witness her selfish ways. Should she publicly show signs of disloyalty to the First Order, they would turn on her.

 

“It is largely because of your knowledge that the First Order has received the equipment needed to continue our stormtrooper program. Without your suggested alterations to trade routes, we would not be as successful as we are.” You would be a liar if you said that his words did not touch you, did not allow you to feel a sense of pride in yourself. “Ensuring that those loyal to you receive similar education is something I consider to be an honor.”

 

Once more, his words were genuine. This was a man dedicated to his job, someone who took pride in what he did. It was a shame that Armitage was overall indifferent to him, opting to instead dote on Phasma. Not that you didn’t understand it, what with their collaboration that had resulted in Brendol’s death.

 

The resources obtained from the trade routes had not only helped the First Order to grow, but the military might of your homeworld to do so as well. Phasma had been incapable of objecting to the fledgling fleet. It furthered the impression that militaristic ongoings from the First Order were for the sake of your planet, and thus the New Republic kept their noses out of that business. Unfortunately, this method of increasing your power also limited you in terms of what moves could be made. You were not able to accompany your husband on numerous political endeavors as he gained funding from bored senators or other wealthy individuals. Those were the occasions that had, the firsts few times, led to you falling prey to Phasma’s poisoned words that had threatened your marriage.

 

Cardinal dismissed himself when you were nearer to the quarters in which Armitage waited for your arrival. The red armored stormtrooper’s absence resulted in your royal guards pressing closer to your body until you were in front of the door. The guard to the quarters moved to the side without any command necessary. You smiled to yourself, marveling at how efficient those in charge of protecting Armitage were.

 

He was seated on a blue couch and wore a dark robe. You enjoyed the way the light from his datapad’s display played along his features. There were no bags under his eyes, which meant that he had actually slept.  _ Good _ . The first five nights after you had demanded he kill Phasma, your husband had gotten a mere four hours of broken sleep. It was for the sake of his health that you had relented in your demands; the fervor with which he worked was enough to you to prove that he was willing to kill her, to rearrange his plans to follow your order.

 

“I missed you,” you said, keeping your voice low. His brow was a little furrowed, which you had learned was a sign he was suffering a minor tension headache. Even with those, he did not stop his work. Armitage flashed you a quick smile then returned his attention to the datapad. He did shift closer to the couch’s back. This offered you enough room to sit on the edge. You did so, removing your shoes and overcoat. These fell to the floor into a pile. Armitage clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “If  _ my _ project continues at the rate it has been going, things on my end will be ready for the transition.”

 

Neither of you dared say aloud that the transition was the adjustment period once Phasma was dead. The royal guards and the lone stormtrooper at Armitage’s quarters could only be trusted so much. A mistake, an accidental slip up, would ruin it all.

 

“As for the safehold?” he inquired. You felt a light pressure on your lower back that moved upwards. His hand gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze when it arrived there. You looked at him, pressing your lips against the limb before murmuring that this project, too, was nearly finished. “It would be wise to ensure your father be relocated on a temporary basis.”

 

“I was considering that as well,” you said, twisting at your torso so that you could better view your husband’s face while also checking what was displayed on the datapad. You were not certain, however you believed that he was reading through a progress report on Starkiller. The readouts on the power of the weapon took your breath away. Armitage’s eyes were trained on your face. You knew that he did not miss the conflict that warred within you, the signs evident in your expression. “Are you going to accuse me of being soft again?”

 

“No.” The smirk on his face caused you to grin. “You are willing to fight for what you believe in. When it comes down to it, you don’t hold back your punches.” Armitage tilted his head to the side and considered the statistics on display. “I don’t wish to blindly destroy planets. This is about bringing order to the galaxy. Sacrifices are an unfortunate necessity.”

 

You were torn as to whether or not you would ever be able to view an entire planet and its people as being an acceptable loss. At the same time, you accepted that your experience with war was limited. In the past, you would not have dreamed of having an agenda wherein an individual's death was your goal. Phasma had changed that for you.

 

Your husband cupped the side of your face, and you leaned into his touch.

 

“We only have hours before I have to leave,” you reminded him.

 

Armitage nodded. “And when next we meet, it shall be done.”

 

With those words, with the knowledge that Phasma would no longer be an issue the next time you were with your husband, you rolled onto your back and sighed as he started to explore your body.


	28. Confess

Confess

 

Subtle modifications to the royal fleet had gone unnoticed, however the adaptation of First Order ship models had started to gain attention from the New Republic. Their budding concern had been short lived. One lone senator stood aboard the bridge of your flagship as news of the Hosnian system’s destruction echoed off the cold, steel walls. You felt yourself suck in air and hold that breath. Starkiller base had been used. Though you had known of its power, you had hoped that the damage would be minimal. You were the face of your people, and they quite literally turned to you in search for how to react. The senator swayed in place then collapsed to her knees. An ambassador from a third planet, one less involved in the newly destroyed New Republic, also stood still in shock. He ran a hand down his face then pulled at his facial hair.

 

_ He has not sent word that Phasma is dead. Countless perish before her. _

 

You crossed your hands, cupping one in the other, and bowed your head. None of your people felt ashamed for taking a moment to mourn those who had been lost. It would not be many who experienced loss on a familial level, yet that did not prevent you from sympathizing for those who were now aching in such emotional agony. An unimaginable amount of friends had been taken. Even you had already recently been dealt a blow; Captain Phasma had taken it into her hands to kill Cardinal after the man had learned of her role in Brendol Hux’s death. It angered you that your husband had then informed the man of his own part—how you had  _ seethed  _ while reading the message sent to you by Armitage following the events.

 

The pawns were moving all over the board. You had known that things were coming to a head when Armitage had insisted you finish preparations with your father. He was in hiding, someplace Captain Phasma could not find him. The New Republic was no threat to him now.

 

You scammed the faces of your people, the technicians, officers, pilots, and your royal guards. They were on edge now that the moment of silent had passed. Their eyes darted to the senator and ambassador as well as the security forces each had brought along. They were wild cards in your plan. Not the plan to kill Phasma either. She did not take up the entirety of your life. Presently you had been attending to the needs of your planet. Strengthening your fleet was not for your protection alone. The looming war… No, the war that had just been set fully into motion had the possibility of spreading to your planet. Resistance members would learn that the First Order utilized your homeworld. Or else scum, pirates and smugglers stirred up by the chaos and hopeful to make a quick batch of credits, would flock there. It was less likely due to how General Hux had dealt with such trash in the past, however you were not about to take the chance.

 

“Destroyed?” the senator repeated. Your gaze landed on her as she rose to her feet again. No one faulted her for having lost her balance at all. Even having mentally prepared for the possibility, you were in disbelief. It felt surreal. Those planets gone in little more than the blink of an eye. The woman returned your stare. The more she recovered, the more realization appeared to dawn on her. The expression of horror and hurt that crossed her features hurt worse than any slap to the face could have. This was not something that you had wanted, not really, and yet it was what your husband had done. What you had allowed him to do. “How?”

 

You wanted to be truthful and tell the senator that the First Order had succeeded largely because the New Republic had turned a blind eye. They had been warned by others, members of the Resistance and otherwise, that the First Order was growing on a military level. The creation of the Resistance had furthered the First Order’s necessity for such a weapon. Just as they had with your planet, the New Republic had done  _ nothing _ . Bickering amongst one another solved no problems. Lining the pockets of the senators...your distaste for the late Levin Mikthyre resurged. You again understood why, no matter the pain and levels of shame you felt for the deaths that had just transpired, you had not interfered with your husband’s plans. It was not out of self-preservation—you strongly believed Armitage would have viewed you as an enemy if you had attempted to stop him—but to protect your planet and your people.

 

“Because it is easy to ignore the cries of people who aren’t your own.” Despite your conviction, it did not stop your voice from dropping low. Some on the bridge strained to listen to you. You shook your head, hoping that the senator and ambassador could understand that you  _ did _ mean to implicate yourself with those words. You understood the stain on your hands, on your soul, that these deaths had caused. They were not your people, and so they had become inconsequential to you as you had focused on ensuring the safety of your planet. It was almost hypocritical. The ambassador averted his gaze. He, too, was a hypocrite in the same sense. That was why he had come to deal with you despite knowing that you were aligned with the First Order.

 

This senator was the same. Worse, even. She had known, she  _ had _ to have known the moment she had exited hyperspace to meet with you. To the senator, the war had not been quite real. She had to have been a child when the Rebel Alliance fought the Empire. It was a thing of the past, just as the New Republic had allowed itself to believe.

 

“You...this isn’t what we wanted,” she said, her voice cracking. You shook your head, the movement slow. The  _ we _ was to cover herself, you, and the ambassador. The three of you stood there, knowing it did not matter in the end. In your own ways, you had started to break apart from the New Republic. You had each, to some extent, wanted it gone. Perhaps not like this. That did not matter.

 

You held onto the growing feeling of numbness and apathy as it settled. It would keep you going until you heard news of Captain Phasma’s death. The news you wanted so desperately to receive from your husband.

 

“We regroup from here,” you offered. Your attention was no longer on the two figureheads. Instead you watched those with them. They were lost. Trembling. “I believe it would be best to reconvene after a recess. I doubt communications will be possible to obtain more information. As it is, there is plenty to digest.”

 

“I agree,” the ambassador stated. He placed a hand on his stomach, and you noticed that the limb was shaking. “I can’t… It would take much effort to focus.”

 

This was the man from whom you required the final materials needed to finish your fleet. Raw materials for shields were not easy to come by on your planet. Others had refused to do business with you, not that you had pushed very hard. Those in the New Republic had cringed at the idea of forming any sort of military. They pitied the Outer Rim planets that, like yours, suffered at the hands of crime lords and the likes. Pity did not protect you or your people.

 

It would have been insensitive to not allow your guests time to properly gathered themselves. The female senator looked grateful, and she wasted no time in excusing herself from the ship’s bridge. She would not be leaving your vessel just yet. The guest quarters had previously been prepared for her, and she headed in that direction. You released the breath you had started to hold. Her remaining meant that she wasn’t going to abandon the plans to do business with you. Or, if she did eventually, it would be after thinking it over. You could respect that.

 

Should the plans run through as had been discussed prior to the physical meeting that was taking place, a three planet alliance would become official. This was to include trade in resources. A large amount would improve your fleet, which would act in defense for the ambassador’s planet against crime lords who were abusing local space routes. This had resulted in a decreased flow of tourists, which was hurting their economy. As for the senator, her planet required plants from your home planet that could be used in medical salves that were necessary for the locals to survive disease brought in through travel. The New Republic’s budding laws had caused obtaining these supplies to be rather difficult. The destruction of the New Republic did not so easily remove those laws or make travel safe. People were not idiots. Where some had forgotten the horrors of war from the days of the Empire, it was fresh in others’ memories.

 

Only when both the ambassador and senator had left the bridge did you move towards your seat. You lowered yourself into it, tapping on a button that was located on its armrest then placing your entire hand on a panel that popped out. Communication lines were open on a scrambled channel. You stared blankly at the display. Waiting. Hoping that your husband would have sent word that Phasma had been dealt with now that the New Republic was fallen.

 

_ It’s the Resistance, not the New Republic, that’s a threat to him _ , you reminded yourself. Phasma could be far more deadly than the Resistance though.

 

Another full minute elapsed with no message from the First Order. You resisted the urge to slouch in your seat. “Open transmission with the First Order,” you hissed. The guard nearest to you straightened as she twisted to meet your gaze. You gave a subtle nod then looked to the communications officer. “Request information as to whether the Resistance was located in the Hosnian system.”

 

“Affirmative.” He returned his attention to his console in order to carry out the orders you had given. If the Resistance had not been the primary target, if it had instead been the New Republic itself, you could understand why your husband was not yet in further contact. He would be tied down with work. You wanted his focus there. If it wasn’t, he could be killed.

 

Stars, perhaps even Captain Phasma would be the one to kill him if she believed he was growing soft.

 

_ Her time’s nearly up _ , you consoled yourself.  _ From there, Snoke will have to be dealt with. That one may be easier. Kylo Ren’s patience with him is waning. _

 

The communications officer once more looked your way while relaying news that there was no response from the First Order. You knit your brow, leaned forward in your chair, and commanded the man to try a second time. He did not hesitate in obeying. A stillness had grown on the bridge. If transmissions to the First Order were unanswered, this indicated an issue on their end. They had never ignored you in the past. You had delayed responding to them in regards to the destruction of the New Republic, however that should not have resulted in them ignoring you. You held your breath when the officer replied with the same words as before. No response.

 

“Try at regular intervals until a response is received. I am leaving command of the bridge to Eseker.” The mentioned officer gave a nod of acknowledgment. You had risen from your chair after closing the encrypted line. “Alert me when there is a reply.” You did not wait for an answer, exiting the bridge and heading in the direction of your quarters. You would finish preparations for the meeting there then meet with the two political figures. You also hoped to reread the message regarding Cardinal’s fate. He had clearly been ready to deal with Phasma. That your husband gave the chrome armored stormtrooper a head’s up, an advantage, was nagging at you. Starkiller had been almost entirely functional at that point.

 

_ Unless Ren became too much of a wild card for him. In that case, he would need Phasma alive to ensure the cooperation of officers and stormtroopers. She would aid in balancing things there.  _ You returned greetings to the personnel working aboard your flagship as you bypassed them. News was spreading regarding the New Republic’s destruction. You could see that in their grim expressions, identical to the ones that had been on the bridge. If they were aware of the silence form the First Order, they would only grow more worried. You said nothing, opting to instead offer a comforting smile.

 

Arriving in your quarters, you located your handheld device, opening the connection to the encrypted line once more. A breath of relief escaped you. Armitage had left a brief message, which caused your sense of calm to waver.

 

_ The weapon was utilized when Ren failed to capture the droid with the map to Skywalker; the Resistance has the droid. The prisoner, whom Ren captured in place of the droid, has escaped. Preparations to attack the Resistance are underway. The other part of our plan is put on hold until all elements are secured. _

 

You did not want to think what would occur if the prisoner was not located. It did explain the delay. They would have to recharge the weapon, ensure the shields were still running, and have personnel devoted to finding the escapee.

 

To distract yourself from the stress, you began preparing the files you would use during your meeting with the ambassador and senator. There were changes to make now that the New Republic had been destroyed. Numbers to adjust. You also wanted time to send the information to one of your advisors so that they could look over everything. It was when you were submitting the revisions to the advisor that you noticed your device flashing. You grabbed it then began to read.

 

_ Shields were deactivated. No time to access files to determine the culprit. Prisoner remains at large. Resistance interference. I am on my way to consult with Supreme Leader. Ren in pursuit of enemies. Phasma’s whereabouts unknown. _

 

You cupped a hand along your jaw, narrowing your eyes. Another readthrough, and you swore. Because he did not know Phasma’s location, he would not state he suspected her. She would know if he did, and he would become expendable. Had she been the one to jeopardize the weapon? You were not yet sure. It would be easy to blame her, your emotions creating a bias.

 

_ Weapon unstable. Evacuation begun. _

 

That message was all you needed to act. You stormed out of your quarters, issuing commands to secure the guests. They would be forced to remain in their rooms, meanwhile you would move onto a different ship. One better equipped for meeting the First Order; it had the proper clearance codes that would keep them from firing on you. The officers would possibly be trigger happy if you brought in a larger ship. Should they confuse you with the Resistance, they would not hesitate to shoot you down.

 

In under an hour, your husband was aboard your ship, having reported to Supreme Leader as well as delivering Kylo Ren for medical treatment. News that the prisoner had bested Kylo Ren in a lightsaber battle gave you goosebumps. You feared what would happen if Skywalker came into the picture. That was a true threat to your husband’s life. He was scowling as he sat there with you, bringing you up to speed on all the details. Captain Phasma remained missing.

 

“Is she dead?” you asked. Armitage shook his head. He did not believe she was, or at least would not allow himself that assumption. His focus was not on the chrome armored woman at any rate. He was angered over the loss of his weapon. Snoke had been far from pleased at the result as well, berating both your husband and Kylo Ren. “We will prepare for either outcome. Should she be alive, I...don’t trust her. It is time for her death.”

 

“Focus on creating the alliance,” Armitage said. You huffed, pulling away from him. “Or do you plan on letting her distract you? You’ve grown powerful, dear wife. Do not let her win by giving in to paranoia.”

 

You rolled your eyes at this, leaned in to give him a kiss, and caressed his face. He looked utterly exhausted. You doubted he would be receiving sleep any time soon, or at least not a sufficient amount.

 

“Keep those blades up your sleeves. Your blaster on your belt.” Armitage murmured an  _ of course _ against your lips then puckered his, kissing you.

 

Your return to the flagship of your own fleet marked the continuation of negotiations. Where the senator questioned your absence, the ambassador asked nothing. The mini interrogation from the senator wasted time, elongating the meeting to where it took the better part of two days to have all parties in agreement. There was a pause when the senator began to sign her name on the treaty. The question:  _ was _ she still a senator? You said nothing, hoping to minimize the amount of embarrassment she was experiencing. On this, the ambassador was not silent.

 

“Senator is fine.” It was the annoyance in his tone that caused the senator’s face to flush. They each wanted to return to their planets. Things were changing there without them. You wished to return home as well, which is why you did not interject.

 

Having received no word regarding Phasma, you began preparing for your father’s return. He could soon come out of hiding, could sit in the throne you were currently occupying. It had been four days since the destruction of Starkiller Base. Before night arrived, you received a message from your husband on the encrypted channel. He had forwarded you a report. You started it, listening to the audio, which was Phasma. Her report outlined her pursuit of an officer by the name of Lieutenant Sol Rivass, who had, she stated, been the one to lower the shields on Starkiller.

 

Where some would praise the report as Phasma being loyal to the First Order, you could not help but think that her efforts were borderline fanatic. Obsessive. Tying up loose ends, you noted. She did not allow the possibility that the officer had perished to stop her from pursuing him until death. She had failed to report in all the while.

 

_ She has something to hide. _

 

Armitage had wasted no time in forwarding you the report. His only reason for doing so would be if…

 

“They’re coming here,” you whispered to yourself. Armitage would have no choice but to bring the woman to your planet. He could not order her execution. She had covered her tracks well. The exception being that she did not account for the fact that, once she arrived, you were prepared to kill her. This possibility was one method you and your husband had discussed in the past. You had the power to kill her, so long as you had the upperhand. She had quick reaction time. A moment’s hesitation would be  _ your _ death. Which would have her killed by your guards. No matter what, she would die.

 

_ It could be the perfect set up to eliminate you both _ , a voice in the back of your head pressed.  _ He would then have full control of your fleet as well as his. _

 

Except your officers and royal guards would not listen to him. Your father would still be the crown. If Armitage ensured your father’s death, he would be a traitor and forfeit his claim on the throne. That was not a loss he was willing to accept. It weakened him.

 

You had the small blaster that your husband had given to you in your hand. Seated on the throne, you kept the weapon low, out of immediate sight so that Captain Phasma and Armitage were fully inside of the throne room before she was able to see the weapon. She, too, had her blaster at the ready. You had to hand it to her; she was excellent at reading people. You hoped that she had failed to see through Armitage. You would not put it past her to be able to take out both you and your husband before the royal guards disposed of her.

 

“Confess,” you said. Light glinted off the dome of her helmet a she moved her head almost imperceptibly. “Where were you these past four days?”

 

“That is none of your concern,” she said. “My loyalty should not be put into question.  _ You _ are the one ready to kill, unprovoked.”

 

“Phasma, you are a survivalist. Shortly after the shields were removed from Starkiller Base, you went missing. Let’s not pretend you were doing anything other than covering your own hide. Tying up loose ends. Just like with the hand you hired to kill  _ me _ .”

 

It was the first you had spoken of this aloud with your guards present. A hush fell over the room, which was destroyed as each of them drew their weapons. Save for Phasma’s blaster, all weapons were pointed in the direction of the chrome armored woman. Armitage glanced at several of the guards then to you. He could easily be caught in the crossfire. You knew he was not pleased with the position. You were far from happy with it as well.

 

“Do not harm the crown,” you growled out. Your guards kept their fingers off the triggers of their weapons. They knew better than to allow Armitage to die now. “Confess. You aren’t leaving here alive.”

 

“Neither will you,” she said coolly. “You have always been a pawn. For your father. For the First Order. We lose  _ nothing _ with your death.”

 

Your eyes met Armitage’s in that next moment. They were always so hard, yet suddenly were soft. Vulnerable. It felt good, to know that he cared, that he did not want to lose you. It was strange, too, that you felt your life was worth giving up if it meant protecting Armitage from Phasma. She had cost him Starkiller Base already. She would not admit it, but that meant nothing.

 

All of this flashed through your mind in milliseconds. The triggers were pulled. A glint of silver peeking out of Armitage’s sleeve. You did not see his blade in full. You doubt Captain Phasma did either.

 

Your gaze was locked with Armitage’s. His expression confessed the words he did not often speak. He loved you. He did not want you to die.

 

_ Bang _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song I listened to a LOT for this fic is "Covered by Roses" by Within Temptation.


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